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By Robert L.J. Zenik

My dear Byrd,

It was a cold day, not with snow, but with frost that paints itself on windows. I would have to walk out into it, and become a straight face like the rest of where we viewed the street, waiting for bus.

It cut me. I would say it cut me.

Someone once said to me: “Take it easy. Take it easy!” So I stopped there, right in front of the man, face to face, looked him square in the eye, and failed to recognize him.

I moved down the road. Buildings, if you can picture them, sprawled out ahead of my kissing that day, cast a shadow on my feet and half way up to my knees.

It’s going to hurt, I thought. No matter what he thinks, what he says, it’s going to cut me. Wound me. Better he remove himself, from attending.

Bye for now Byrd, CZESLAW Singer oe

Robert L.J. Zenik – poet, standing in the cold, waiting for the making of the rose – is a writer from Sudbury, ON.

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