A Poem: Three Twos Oh Seven | Poetry | Hudson Valley | Chronogram Magazine
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A Poem: Three Twos Oh Seven 

There’s a man
in a box
in the front of the room.

There’s a man
dressed in black
speaking in tomb.

I’m surrounded
by family
I don’t even know.

Silently screaming
trying
to let go.

And I can’t feel anything.

My father’s
father.

And I don’t feel anything.
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