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The Neighborhood

 I wish I could,
 like some, forget,
and never anguish,
 nor regret,

dismissive, free
 to roam the street,
no matter how
the visions meet.
Remembrance is a neighborhood where convicts live with great and good, its roads of red, uneven brick, whose surfaces – both rough and slick – spread out into a patchwork plan.
Sometimes at night I hear a man vault past the fence, and cross the yard, my door chain down, and me off-guard.
He curses, threatens, pounds the door.
I’m wedged between the couch and floor, ungainly, barefoot, limp and pinned, scared of the dark, without a friend, with only one clear thought, that I – like him, like you – don’t want to die.

by Jennifer Reeser
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