Dead Children
P Patti Masterman
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When the body grows up,
the children inside it die;
where are they now,
if no longer present?
Every night I bury those imps-
but every night, they re-animate again.
Dead children will not stay buried.
The past lives forever
on some forgotten thoroughfare,
but we grown-ups
always have more forgetting to do.
It is our daily task,
when the stiffened cardboard cut-outs
fall over again, at morning.
The brain is a restless cemetery.
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