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Julia Story

Indiana Problem (November Rain)


We’re thinking of painting

the bedroom a color called


November Rain, which I

can’t discuss without


picturing Slash standing

at the top of a cliff after


the accident, still rocking

even though he’s dead


and has no electricity. I

don’t want to model


thinking or what memory

does. Mostly I just want


people to listen to me and

then maybe understand me


but I don’t even care that

much about being understood.


Underground the trees help

each other: even separate


species send messages to

roots smaller or stranger


than their own and in a way

hold each other before


they plunge from their

underground cliffs, and all


we see are the clacking

branches, leaves trying


again to grow, the music

inside all kinds of things


that we’ll get around to

one of these days.


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