Pore

Love spilled from you like sweat from pores.

Now I don’t know what to do with the weird smell in my bed.

With an unbowed head, I heard you name your prayers after me.

You say my name in your sleep

Like harmless hymns that can never be repeated too many times,

Like nursery rhymes meant to teach children how to read.

You never were fluent with me.

We mumble our fears when we sleep.

 

This poem is about: 
My community

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