Tara Allan

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These Days

You do not know me on these days
when I can barely lift my iron body
from my bed

these days
when I eat bread,
crackers, cheese

these days
when leaving home is a dream
as distant as a summer breeze deep in mid-winter.

These days
the only ones who know me
are my pen and this small volume
in which I lay my body between bound sheets
in a narrow bed of silence

Reproduced with permission from CATHARSIS, volume 7, December 1993.

© Tara Allan, 1996

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