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Residual Memory of Mercy by Nicole Rollender

Residual Memory of Mercy

by Nicole Rollender

published in typishly


Everything is the hopesprung phantom

of something else. I married


that man, the next morning for a moment

not knowing why I was tucked


in his bed. He collects spoons’

shiny reserve, clay pots of lush succulents,


handmade soaps smelling of spiced apples &

wet horsehair. He moves through me


as through a quiet house.

As if he has thought what he will


do when I die.

He says I’m dark fruit.


A wind moving outside myself.

A stone wall with one hole.


Even now, he says he loves me as I

came to him, lopsided breasts he’s


accustomed to, my night murmurings

a murder of charcoal crows. He says I sleep


with my mouth overflowing,

as they enter or exit at will.




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