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Poetry #191
(published September 9, 2004)
Paper Tape
by Colleen Sea Stachura

Unwrapping dishes she notices
Above the sink a photograph
framed and pinned
by old glass.
He is dressed in a navy suit
wrapped head neck and ankle
in brown paper tape.
Thick lines of it crossing
and darting, barely a crease.
He is carried by air, suspended
while she unwinds and unwinds ruby glasses.
Mouth, a slight purse
Hem of jacket pulled free of the tape.
He is as solid and as trapped as a body.
Look at me, he must be saying.
A small, calm wrapped man.
Pale in his communication.
Come, come in.

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