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About This Poem
I Will Not be Plath
Winter buries deep with virgin snows
Lands white as the frozen
Skies cradling the edges of the earth
As it spins around their lives-
Cracked coffee cups,
Emptied as the conversation ceases,
Her smile suspended.
As he tries to caress her chapped fingers
she withdraws, and a door opens
And the wind says goodbye
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