J a m e s   M.  C r o t e a u

 

Out of Body

 

On the day I told my mother I was gay,

I sat near where the wall meets the ceiling

and looked down at us talking

in my studio apartment, first place I lived on my own.

 

Forty years later,

I returned to that spot

and looked down

at her narrow last room

on her last night.

 

 

 

 

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