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264

Rehearsing Lullabies

Wayne Wolfson By
Published:
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For Caracol

I am by the fountain where we used to meet, rehearsing lullabies.

The man I could have been stares up at me from the surface. His head, surrounded by the gem like halo of the street's neon offering.

Ah baby, I am sick again, get him to carry me home.

While I wait, I rehearse lullabies for you to sing.

His disapproving look brings down my foot, water seeping in through the hole in my sole.

I always slip further in.

Strange horse, head under water, luminescent green disturbed by tiny silver flashes of my splashing, bubbles break through the surface.

Wait too long for her kiss and I risk becoming part of the fountain or forgetting a lullaby's melody.

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