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Painted Windows
Nicholas Trutenko
She was selling trinkets at funerals
While wiping the brows of weeping children
With a small lime green sponge
Which she would later use to wring the tears
Over the dying plants in her apartment
Next to the shrine of Elvis
Surrounded by dimly lit candles in jars
In a room papered in red velvet
On the table, newspapers strewn
From a dozen yesterdays
All open to the obituaries
Circled systematically in red marker
While this fucking hag
Used the blood of unknown poets
To update her resume
All the while, the windows –
Painted shut through the many years
And various shades of gray
And alabaster silhouettes of dead soldiers,
Protected her from the outside world
And the truth