Emily Kite

Meanwhile


God is dead mice

under the stove

And me at 18 watching 

Laura Palmer die

On a tv that no one can carry.

My slow descension

Remaining a mystery 

25 years later,

That apartment had

Vines across the windows,

And I thought

We don’t need heat;

We need romantic windows.

I found the dvd in a walmart bin

Years later, hidden under

The rubble of bad 2000’s comedies.

“This was meant to be,”

I remember thinking as I clicked

And unclicked

The closing tab,

The backdrop of red curtain

Framing my tragic entertainment.

It would take time for me to be sad

That I related to Laura.

It takes time to get old.


 

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