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What Comes After Because


Because there are too many pages in novels
we use books to hold open our apartment window, 
balance the leg of a wobbly couch. Because squirrels 
in city parks become so attached to humans, they disregard 
personal space, climb my leg to reach the stale pita bread
I hold at my side. Because we never walk the long way 
and always try to find shortcuts, we miss out on seeing
the old cork tree in the middle of Seattle, the one 
you pass after leaving the art museum, three blocks before 
The Lusty Lady. Because we look away from the man 
in the street who needs our help, we will carry his face 
on the back of our eyelids, the heavy thud when he fell 
against cement, the sound of our footsteps obscured 
by sirens. 
 
© Kelli Russell Agodon