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Peace

I’m Kelly.  It’s an Irish name.
I’m black Irish.  I’m not from
here.  I’m from farther south,
from that part of town where
five people were shot in front
of the church last night.  On the steps
of the church, they were just
standing there.  Not hurting anyone.
You don’t have a gun, do you?
I don’t, either.  People with guns
need to take lessons so they shoot
who they’re aiming at and not just
anyone.  (I won’t mention it, but
I want to thank you for not saying
anything about how you can smell
the liquor on my breath.  And the
sun’s just barely up.)

I come here and I sit and I look
at the lake and the sky
and the sun and it’s my peace.
It’s how I get my peace.
Are you a therapist?  It’s going
to be hot today.  My sister
tells me bring a bottle of water
with me when I go out.  Ice-cold
water, a bottle.  I’m very
religious.  I have to start
my day soon.  Go home and shower
and get dressed.  Clean clothes.
I like the lake.  The sky and
the sun.  Bright yellow sun.

Published inOniontownPoemsWords

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