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I cannot sit in this peace.
It slopes powerlessly to the side,
trying to hide the red,
swollen fissure that ends
in uncertainty
and begins
in the most common,
graceless noises in the world.
It’s just waiting to be undone
by any movement, any word
that bears any weight at all.
But where do I rest
my aching back?
Where to put my bruised and
conquered indignation
so it disturbs no one?

Forced to remain whole
to accommodate the brokenness
of everything else.

“Yvonne (Ribes)”
by photographer Berta Vicente Salas


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