She passes him…

She passes him in a street
of the town they grew up in
and he’s wearing her body;
oh, it’s been so long,
will he recognize her? his hair is long
too, longer than hers. No echo
of the wet tiles is shaking
in his eyes; no blood,
spilled on the clothes, none
of the things that make her howl
inside. He’s smiling, young,
insolent; he must be
at the center of every
family picture.
She passes him in the street,
and he’s wearing her body.

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