she would glimpse under half lidded eyes head resting on the car door Arriving in the cradle of sleeping giants, called bluffs That thick haze of wet earth fills her nose Permeating every year of life Every night with the window open, a single light on yellow pages Replace a room with a matchbox dorm A sister with a roommate Until her legs grow longer Her hair blankets her lower back Her face sharpens, as does her words And the years layer on, like the blankets that ripple like velvet waves under string light stars, that reveal bigger hands touching the same pages, as she welcomes in the same night breeze An old friend This is not childhood anymore, but somehow it feels the exact same
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