David Cowen can be reached at email@example.com, but unfortunately,
that's all the information I have.
GHOST ON A WHITE SHEET
A broken doll held together by yellowed tape.
Small patches of hair remain,
the unwanted survivors of a clear-cutting.
Her breathing, heavy and hard, keeps time
to the syncopatic rhythm of an electric heart
pinned into her pale skin;
each slow beat, an anticipation of the next.
The cookie jar is empty;
the oven has grown cold.
THE PRAY FOR ME LADY
an old dried leaf slowly pushed on by the wind,
she walks, paper bag of nickels clutched in her hand.
She's crazy momma says, but she likes to give nickels
to the boys and girls who run up behind like dogs begging for meat.
She hands out a shiny coin with her brown, shrunken hands,
bands of dried beef held together with the black tattered cloth of her
She'd make each of us promise to pray for her
as if she was bartering for her soul.
We'd take the money and run down the street,
planning out which candies we could buy with our new wealth,
forgetting the promise of interceding on behalf of her salvation,
telling ourselves that if God won't listen to her, he won't listen to us.
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