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By Molly Brodak
Poetry•Vol. XXIV No. 2 (Summer 2011)

No one is so patient:
chair-patient, sky-patient:
I myself don’t know where I end.

Here a phone trills forever—
waves prick and disassemble,

all quakes. It is not so bad.
Pain might be funny.
And I’m good at killing things

I like. I can come to the rotten aspect
of lunch and stop placidly, so.
Witnessing horror is a boring chore,

face it. Face it with me.
So the bird of my dreams is a crow
who turns into a robin,
who I can help out of any building
he wants to be trapped in.

Molly Brodak is from Michigan and currently lives in Augusta, Georgia. She is the author of the chapbook Instructions for a Painting and the book A Little Middle of the Night.

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