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late november afternoons
on the twelfth floor
saturdays will always taste
like tobacco. smell of
floor polish. bonfires

she spends hours
opening and closing the drawers
the dust rests on the glass case
like the lake
after a brief snow

some girls, they fight
hearts pounding
they dream mexico,
oranges, azure waters.
oak trees

other girls
lay down in warm wax
& holding their breath
they wait
wait for the pins