Hey Precious, Listen || Olena Kalytiak Davis

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Now that my heart has stopped
screaming it is just a tired ambulance
parked on the left side
of a highway six lanes thick.

The driver is thinking.
The driver thinks tragedy is a joke.
He thinks: No accident, this.
He starts thinking about a place
where wingspan is not
a flip of a coin,
where birds pass themselves
off as doorbells,
where you don’t have to choose
between calamity
and light.



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