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behind the curtains

the windows seem black

yellow light

from the kitchen pressing in,

declining to name

I remember attrition

and sweetgrass

and the knock at the door

like a sweet melody

I remember

you’ve moved through gravity

and history

and the story of the ten

thousand tapestries

whiling away like light

lapping against

tissue and dispersing

remembering you’re still afraid

of edges and pine needles

and the soft skin

of a peach

please stay with me

I remember

I cannot bear

the black outside


Samuel Gilpin is a poet living in Portland, OR, who holds a Ph.D. in English Lit. from the University of Nevada, Las Vegas, which explains why he works as a door to door salesman. A Prism Review Poetry Contest winner, he has served as the Poetry Editor of Witness Magazine and Book Review Editor of Interim. A Cleveland State University First Book Award finalist, his work has appeared in various journals and magazines, most recently in The Bombay Gin, Omniverse, and Colorado Review.

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