in Poetic Prose

Toronto: A Eulogy for Becky

A city full of ghosts and shadows stained grey.
Catching glimpses of the skin of children wrapped in cardboard.
Born of angels
Who fell a long, long time ago
And forgot that they could fly.
“She’s still a trigger and I’m still reliving
The trauma caused by beauty and searching for a stronger muse.
But I only find
Her voice in parking lots
And her reflection in the windows of this train.”

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