half-hearted parade
Joy David

    
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      i learned forgiveness as one does—
pulling scissors from the window-box beneath a train
where nobody asks about the hats we left at the station
or the parade of flying fish. i am only trying to tell you a story
about the bear and his rough magic. how he swayed
and the great wicker basket in the sky fell over.
how the sun forgot its rising. how the horse
ran locomotive all night in the spray
of a lake where once we swam
through a yearlong funeral—
just us: that horrible
horrible bear      
and i.