• Patrick Johnson

15: Contrails

when I was little

I used to pretend

that every single plane

gleaming in the sun

was my mother

to keep

that woman

at bay

I'd hope my father

would finally win the lottery

so he could afford

to care for me too

it never occurred to me

that I was placed

among those hills

with the intent

of being forgotten

none of us knew

I'd pay the most

for their inability





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