This poem is taken from Stand 215, 15(3) October - November 2017.

Chelsea Whitton Three Poems
I see my dead brother on a 2015 street  
Who knows what may happen if I start to write about it?
City grew bored, today, of making me feel small and worn
so it got its light together, smeared it differently. Who knows
why I took a different route on my way back to the office,
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