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icy shock of morning water
scrubbing my face away, wiping
out a palette of memories
my rash
yesterdays remembered
in the caked layers of paint

a splashing transformation
into something alien
& pale, ooh! it's a ghost
of my real face -- burying
the past
into warm towel softness
I realize I should buy

interior paint.

by Deborah P Kolodji

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This poem is Copyright 1996 by Deborah P Kolodji

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