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calliope Released Jul 27, 2015

she: the last time I saw your father, he was walking away to fight a war in a land that no longer exists.

he: was it over a woman?

she: a woman or oil, or the land or the sea. men have never needed an excuse to fight.

he: what was his name?

she: I'll tell you when you're older.

he: what was he like?

she: like a wolf, like the sea, like a sharp breath. he had a quick wit and a quick temper. his laughter was music, and he laughed often.

he: did he love me?

she: yes.

he: then why did he leave?

she: I...

he: why did he leave?

she: I don't know. a woman. oil. the land or the sea. it doesn't matter. he had to go, and nothing and no one could stop him. not the gods of the sky or the beasts of the waves.

he: and not you.

she: no. not me either.

he: what was his name?

she: it's not important, child.

he: what was my father's name?

she: it doesn't matter. names change. but the stories always stay the same.

he: how does this story end, then?

she: everyday, I will weave his shroud. every night, I will take its knots in my fingers, undo what I have done. and someday he will return.

he: how do you know?

she: because nothing and no one can stop him.

he: and then what?

she: I hope I know him when he does. I don't even know if I would know his face if I saw him now.

he: I will grow into him. my face will become his face, and you will know it again.

she: and someday, I will watch you walk away to fight a war in a land that doesn't exist now.

he: I will find my way back to you.

she: I know.

he: I will.

she: I know.

he: what did he look like - my father - the last time you saw him?

she: tired. restless. hungry. like he had...

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Solo cello music plays. A woman walks into the kitchen. She carries a bag of groceries. She places them on the kitchen table. She takes a loaf of bread from the...

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a woman with a sea glass city in her chest

            once said:

                        our hearts beat in syncopated time

                        mine & then yours, mine &...

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you need to cut down a tree

to know how old it is

you need to cut it down to feel the years

then you can see in the rings

which years were good

and which years were bad

but I suppose no...

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scheherazade was a jazz singer

straight out of new orleans

and every morning

lying in the bed of some new fancy hotel

she thought about

running away

hitchhiking to nashville or

flying to...

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she knew that

objects in the mirror

are closer than they appear

but her hometown looked so small

in the rear-view