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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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