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Li Li 李笠 – Locus


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She Might Be Telling You


Start where a line

is a river, follow

the story upstream,

river winding

a line on a map,

but this crack runs

in black and white,

which means

gray and light, which

mean exposure,

in concrete—follow

the line to its source

where she sits

in sunglasses,

the day gray

light behind her,

and behind her, the water

wide and wider—

here is the crack you follow

to her story, the woman

asked to stay, face

the lens, thinking

through the car ride,

a route she could trace

on her palm, her wrist,

this is the last time waiting

to hear the click,

these light grays she knows

in her body, shades turned

to the years she’ll tuck

in her pockets—she’s still

posing on the wall

that holds the water back,

and then this place opens

like a gift—listen,

you are not too far.

By Joannie Stangeland



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    The crack follows a jagged psychic line
    from its home in the sidewalk
    through the walls of the gallery
    travelling in stealth the entire way

    The eye loses track
    fooled by reflections and paint
    (and occasionally interrupted by passersby)

    until the crack reappears
    in the photograph hanging on the wall
    stopping next to a young woman in sunglasses
    seated, waiting by the shore

    The twists my path has taken
    have led me here
    where impressions reduce to words

    on a once-clean page

    (16 September 2016)

  • J. L. Wright
    · Reply

    The split up

    sitting on the side of the road
    without someone to call
    after a breakdown

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