Afterschool

Your name is like smoke on enamel, teeth stained, perspiring palms and paper planes under our toes. Press pages, solvent, our arms they say are fire. Mouths move. You look down with my eyes. Press play. Can you pull this weight from my chest? Press my arms to my sides, you mean comfort, I mean silence, we mean grief and confusion and the color gray on our faces.  Stretch the weekends into my lifetime. I never observe without recognition like you.

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