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Your Lost Angel
I didn't think you'd come back
like you did,
cigarette in hand
and smiling like nothing's passed,
handing me a Kit Kat
like I'm still in third grade.
I didn't think you'd thrust open
the door
as if you'd opened it every day
for the past seven years
instead of the door
on your wrecked, old van.
I didn't think
you'd throw your beers
in the fridge
and yourself on the couch
without even
saying hello,
or that you'd laugh at the picture
of my boyfriend
as if I could do better,
as if I could find someone
more worthy,
someone more like
you.
I didn't think you'd
curse his name
and curse mom's name
and even your own
while calling me your "angel,"
which I suppose must be true
for children are always close
and loved
but angels,
angels you don't know
or speak to
or live with
but you think of them every once in a while
during a drink
and hope that they remember you,
too.
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