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Blue, with a Farewell in It.

 Even though I sometimes take the dress out of the garbage bag
& hold it like a face, even though I want to say your scent will
always ghost its hem & ribbing, even though I grinned that day at
your painted blue fingernails & bluer toes-- all the girls wear it
now even old girls like me,
  you said, even then as I looked away from the bones & the shadows
clutching your words, even as I feared the hospital again & the
suffering I wanted it to die & leave you alone, even as we
celebrated the graduate at Princeton, even as you whispered to me that
you were tired, angry with all the pills & last resorts, even as you
said people could really get on your nerves with their bullshit, even
when you shared that you were now barely 100 lbs.-- the way you were as
a teenager,-- as if I could not see a feather by myself, even as I
watched you & my father holding hands at your table, even with your
flashing eyes & the shape of your skull visible beneath your
brightly dyed hair, even when I thought of the blue-scrubbed promises
they gave us about the triple bypass, even though I saw you dying &
asked the waiter for water & blue wine I do not touch, even then I
think but cannot say, could not beg you: Fight. 
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Title Annotation:four poems
Author:Griffiths, Rachel Eliza
Publication:The American Poetry Review
Article Type:Poem
Date:Sep 1, 2015
Words:270
Previous Article:Good Death.
Next Article:Blue, Facedown.
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