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71 Anniversary in Manhattan From a safe distance it’s easy to think she’s something that she’s not: a wife unafraid of the water touching the shoulders of statues, an image no window can stop from toppling on floors of forgotten rooms. It’s easy to forget that the sky tempts the eyes with clouds that thicken into faces that look down when spoken to, she can’t comfort, that she can’t hold a line between barren spaces. So when she fades you think of words made in pencil, hold ash in your mouth from a year spent digging for a surface rendered by dust, and hope for erasure. ...

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