Exile    poems by Matthew Freeman February 2021

Present Tense in Carbondale

Now I’m walking down the stairs
to get my dry clothes in the basement
and I see something
from the corner of my eye
and I have to tell you
I’m a little freaked out
until I realize
it’s only the shadow of my foot.
And I’m sad,
wearing these black and grey
striped pajamas
my sister got me which
strangely make me look
a little like a prisoner.

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