I spent entire dinners imagining worn souls crawl up thunderstorms,
imagining our house inhale broken glass and exhale candy wrappers, feathers.
A shiver would pass through me, into the hallway and out the house,
a worn chorus breathing a current of forgotten songs,
ruffling the swallows, breathing glorious under the eaves.
first published in Two Cities Review. December 2014. Online.
This poem is a type of found poem, called a redaction, of the following source:
Harding, Paul. Tinkers. New York: Bellevue Literary Press, 2010. p. 127-129. Print.
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