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The poems

Made by Teresa Marrin
© 2010-2012

planes and anthrax

I can’t find the right pillow
At one point there were eight
Thrown across the bed
Like chairs, beds, bowls of porridge
Too big, too small, too hot, too cold
Pillow after pillow
Nightmare after nightmare
Planes slicing through steel
Bodies fluttering down
The sudden pulverization
Of safety
Gone, all gone
Can’t find the right pillow….