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Poem: The Battle 

The largest part of the battle
is coming face to face
with the blank document. No,

The largest part of the battle
is coming face to face
with the full page, the soggy path,
discovering your breadcrumb trail
infantile, endless, and right
where you left it. No,

The largest part of the battle
is learning to yoyo loneliness
using just thumb, index,
and pointer finger. Bucking up
with a slight tug. Yes,

The largest part of the battle
is certainly baring eye contact
after committing truth,

holding the hand of a sister
to drag her into the eyesight
of searchlights where the mirrors
are cemented in judgment and oh
how shrunken the dining room table
becomes. I am sorry

that my head feels like a mason jar
of fireflies. I only want to write
something new, something impersonal,
some forget-me-not.

Speaking of Writing, loneliness

  • A poem by Mary Rubio

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