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“Now my blood is drying on the pillow. Now the man who held the knife is gone, elsewhere and undiminished. I can hardly remember anything about him. It can be difficult telling the size of something when it’s right above you—the average cumulus cloud weighing as much as eighty elephants. The things I’ve thought I’ve loved could sink an ocean liner, and likely would if given the chance. From my window, the blinking windmills seem further away than ever before. My beard has matted itself into a bloody poultice, and a woman’s voice on TV is begging for charity.” — Kaveh Akbar
Now my blood
is drying on the pillow. Now the man
who held the knife is gone, elsewhere
and undiminished. I can hardly remember
anything about him. It can be difficult
telling the size of something
when it’s right above you—the average
cumulus cloud weighing as much
as eighty elephants. The things I’ve thought I’ve loved
could sink an ocean liner, and likely would
if given the chance. From my window,
the blinking windmills seem
further away than ever before. My beard
has matted itself into a bloody poultice,
and a woman’s voice on TV is begging for charity.