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Marcene Gandolfo
Poet. Writer. Editor.
Found
Eight p.m. October night. Clean
plates placed into the dark
cupboard. A reflection
in a toaster reveals
a part of you—
missing.
As when your daughter breaks
into laughter and her smile
displays a dark gap
where the tooth
once took its place.
Or when a woman reading
on a train travels so deeply
into story she forgets
the wristwatch ticking
to her pulse. As people swarm
the doors, exit the last
station, she has lost her destination.
Outside your window, above
the sidewalk, a stream of cat
eyes lights the night sky—
searching.
Originally published in Eclipse, Volume 19
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