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November 25, 2022 / barton smock

( note, not, note

We hear from grief that loss feels left out. Why write. Because it's hard to surprise god and even harder to avoid. Maybe. Proximity keeps eating the distance that keeps my mouth open. I am grateful. For those who believe the poor exist outside of being made. For those who believe that one can get sick and not know it and so replace their knowing with another's. For writing and for not writing. For my children who leave and come back and stay and drift off. For my brothers who are each disappearing into the darkroom to fully develop our vanishings. For my father who sends me photos of things that happened and teaches me to change how I remember. For my mother who goes from place to place understanding the needs of people who have no person. For Gen who leaves nothing and no one out and carries the near and the far to the same secret place where passwords have been put to sleep. I have some pictures. You've probably seen them. Pretend they're there. 

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