t r e y m o o d y |
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from And the Children |
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2: And the children remember The Book of How to Pray from within their homes. 5: And the children remember When to Breathe inside their bedrooms. |
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2: And the children remember The Book of How to Pray from within their homes. |
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* A small, little TV. We look for answers regarding faith. The bath robe is on fire, the bath robe is on fire. And the screen confuses us further, like we once thought that we knew, we knew. * We knew why we were looking. The world of dusty books; daunting— shame of being shamed, of being shamed. It’s a process when one learns what a color means and what’s done to read it. * And the world is God’s, but we’ve learned through text and practice. We look in mirrors to see the profound. A person in a robe is burning. The robe is auburn and on fire. These things: we gently ask of you. |
5: And the children remember When to Breathe inside their bedrooms. |
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* The walls melting off, as if on fire. The lung’s purpose in the age of air-conditioning. On our cheeks, cool brush of wet leaves sturdy from years of branches. We breathe what we know of memory: oil and its shape floating on water. * And years flatten landscapes. And years build houses. A room is an ability to think: this is only one room. Knowing night’s never leaving soothes us. A pencil sticking out from a bare leg, a yellow pencil. * Repetition submits to remedy. Breathe years, and we’ll know what can’t be answered won’t. Clouds must be visible from inside this house. A room enables the ability to think. |
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TREY MOODY lives in Austin, Texas, in an old yellow house. He teaches English composition at Texas State University, where he is completing his MFA. You can contact him at treyemoody@yahoo.com. |
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a l i c e b l u e e i g h t I S S N 1 5 5 9 - 6 5 6 7 |