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(Flickr)

Any port with a brothel
was home for a night. In Palermo

you fought with razors
over the price of figs.

A rice lord offered
his dark-eyed daughter

and half of Irian Jaya
for your silence. Dreams

dragged you back, dreams
of lines to stand

in other lines, of arms
strained with canvas totes. 

An impossibly busy life
has you on her lips. Your name

fills homes.


Mike Stutzman is a writer and medical educator living in Connecticut. His work has appeared in The Chattahoochee Review and (pseudonymously) The Miami Herald.





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