Kada Williams

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i claim this place
i claim this face

you can't come here
in this white room
where shouts echo loud
seeping dim through the walls

a potted plant in the corner
a room with a terrace light brown wood
a table to sit alone with coffee
a window with a wide view

the sky tumbling rushless round the garden,
the hurricane-wind picks me up, and
gust-like arms push up down over, like
sailing but punched in the stomach

or now it's vacuous light
i sit staring listlessly, and
the coffee cools down
i look at the red mug
"i'll pour you out"

i lie in my bed and gaze upward
(at the white ceiling)
and slam on the wall in dozens
of ways

as i sort the puzzle pieces
the punch in the stomach
is a welcome guest

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