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“He sits on the floor of the”

He sits on the floor of the

house he grew up in, talking on

the phone to his girl in the

city, telling her when he’ll be back,

that he wants to see her, that

he needs to. Gusts of seed-stuff

rush the window. He wakes, perplexed the

dream has not gone on. Maybe it

does, but this is where it leaves

him. This early morning light. Where it

goes on it is rebuilding his heart.

from To the RiverFind more by Michael O’Brien at the library

Copyright © Michael O’Brien
Used with the permission of Flood Editions.

Published in Michael O'Brien Poems

This program is supported in part by a grant from the Idaho Humanities Council, a State-based program of the National Endowment for the Humanities.

Any views, findings, conclusions, or recommendations expressed in this (publication, website, exhibit, etc.) do not necessarily represent those of the Idaho Humanities Council or the National Endowment for the Humanities.

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