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Jenny St. Romain
Floating lives, floating houses—broken
Dark and menacing—the heavy clouds are still here
I know: far, far away is hope, a little sun on the horizon
But it’s not coming soon, coming at a snail’s pace
Heavy you are—hushed we are—struggling to pick up the broken pieces of our windows,
our plates and bowls, our grandmother’s tea cup
Trying to pick up a shattered me
We came back—we are here—we stay together—remain
And we remember: far, far away the sun is on the horizon
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