Blow Away

You pick up the book
and put it down again.
You can’t read
in this empty house
with this ache
in the red round hollow
between your lungs.
You thought the day
was yours—
that you had a choice
in how to spend it.
And even though
you want to read
that goddamned book
you must walk outside
and take him with you—
hoping the wind
will blow him away
and put him back
where you found him—
in one of those sections
marked FICTION
deep in the center
of your heart.

DeMaris Gaunt
4-23-15

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