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Our Own Atoms
by Brian Muriel
she faces west when
the oven of her head
churns to warm
taking in gas from tubes
connected to outside lines and
clicking as it does
being old and slow to fire
the waiting is a sort of living
a soft shine off a new coat of
paint holding light that
peters in from the slack of a curtain
the question comes
(she often wondered)
how much of our
own atoms need
to mingle for us
to swirl in an atmosphere
before we disappear
a submission of being propped up
but profiled on an oak floor
of the environment but not in it
About the Author
Brian Muriel is a high school English teacher in suburban Chicago. His work has appeared in Big Whoopie Deal.
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