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Rte. 9W

for the house by the railroad, 1925

 

three stories of beige backsplash

above the crib in the nursery 

A tempered breeze from the tall grass 

bypasses the windowsill under tobacco ash.

Siding half-wilted, there, the tan of fall

 

turned over our decay. the pink, purple rust

set to the terrain, an infestation. Columns cant hold

the brown up. Grand stairwells with distrust

of curtain and silk. Inside out torn, and told

 

fabric tales. Bunched at the bottom of the blinds,

huge shades cannot deflect the sunlight

when it peaks the tight corner chair whines

of white picket tables. Left shoe underneath, right

 

one in the kitchen. Smooth stones led to the foyer.

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Rebekah M. Rykiel is a poet from Maryland. She has forthcoming or current publications in the Scarab at Salisbury University, Vernacular Press, and The Shore. She is an assistant editor for Poet Lore. When she isn’t writing, she enjoys spending time with her friends and family, and watching movies.

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