Fatigue

by Rena Rossner


Last night
when you walked
from your house
to the corner
shop to buy beer
and a package of crisps
I was burying
bones of sacrilege
in my backyard.
We wore the same
uniform, black
with shades of grey
the color of wet earth
and tossed sky.
Dressed in self-hating
fatigue, we both
made our way back
home, dodging scorpions
and derelicts, to come
in out of the cold, and
find warmth, inside, where
candles were lit and incense
burned. There was music
and longing and the sound
of tv, and food on the table,
faces, smiling, and love
strong as death.

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