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Spadina Literary Review  —  edition 37 page 07



by Frances Koziar

Remind me again
why I’m still here; remind me
of the words of my youth,
the conviction
I once had, the reason
I chose to live what feels now
too long ago,
because I forget
in the long dark of my solitude,
I forget
as I walk the crumbling ruin
of the life I once hoped for.

I follow footsteps
that are mine, ever circling
this last outpost
like some broken ranger. But you
don’t need to tell me: I hear it
— there, in your voice; through the phone
I remember something — gentleness
maybe, or love, yes —
something in your voice reminds me
that that’s
what I was waiting for.