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Resentmental residential
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NINE POEMS To paint a house,
the house still stands
And yet, many years later
You may think it to be a different house
Where it was only one of many
on a street you’d seen only in acquaintance.
know for some
The same purple black after sunset sky finds it
The same hidden rivers flow beneath it
A deeper houseness remains.
Viewed with the infinite hindsight of the slighted
By those who suffered within its yet unpainted walls
And left its doors once and for all in anguish and defeat.
