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Peyton Sauer

a short meditation on rooms i have lived in long enough to sleep in (as far as i know)

sound muffled sight like a cheesecloth caught in a web

a tear against the sky (a window) drips down (slips down, slip gown) glass


ripping noise--

a stutter

cry

a shudder

a shutter closed to suppress a room of blue¹

a room of feeling

a room filled with glue


a room where the orange² sun hits the wall and makes a kind of

magenta³ color (re-member)


how many feathers

does it take to mark

an

empty grave

because i grieve the

truth* and the past

even though they are

not dead and drag on

[cry, remember, try to remember]


the fear of falling always follows even in sleep i dream of

someone (a hand) letting go and i dread the inevitable feeling of being dropped,



gold⁴ rings passed down a generation

does she miss them?



i struggle to find (a) room for my memories to resurface red⁵ and change but it’s hard



six.








1 ladybugs on the walls, painted and real. learned what bones are. learned what friends are.


2 stuck on a dresser, can’t get down feel on fire. wake up to the sound of a radio. sit on the tub. snuggle in.


3 a lot of jumping. a yellow house. pretending. petting a dog a walk-in closet kissing a boy.


4 the moon. an ipod. pink walls (not mine). not mine not mine not mine.


5 ink stains covered up by christmas trees. stomping. hiding more than usual. seeing the sun more than usual.


*as far as i know


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