Samuel 11: In Writing

"History rhymes"

not repeats

not exactly

merges mixes echoes.

Same carpeted walls,

same gym mattress

same wail. Same pile of shoes by the door.

When it rained, 

the perichor, slippery stones 

and lights blinking in clouds

marked which year it was

which round.

But now it is the same sullen heat

fallen figs smashed to the ground.

Swim through the same menace,

watch the same dusty sky.

Mark: my baby can run halfway

my daughter can cross the street.

I am more tired, more sad, more heavy

it is our bodies that clock history