The Gospel According to

A Poem by Anon ymous

A young girl rides by on a pink princess bicycle,
legs pumping, braids a-jangle;

the wind shudders quietly, a death rattle
disguised as a sigh.

The door between what was and what is left
becomes unhinged. She feels incidental,

refuses to unshine the past to appease an old
testament God stranded in a new testament world.

This street is unknown but the sights, the smells
remain still, certain; like her.

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