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This poem is taken from PN Review 183, Volume 35 Number 1, September - October 2008.

Three Poems Rory Waterman

A Suicide

Away. And for a moment as you tipped,
traversed that awful point of no return
and yelled, stretch-torsoed in the faraway,

you faced us. Eyes unseeing mirrored mine:
I thought of me; the you in me, in us;
and all the things you'd given us to say.


Coming Home

My mother kept me informed:
a sad, warm, phone-grained voice
enticed me home, for once -
could not prepare me for

the dying old dog by the door
whose too-big leather collar
gives name and number,
...


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