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          Regret and sorrow go solo
          By M.E. Hope

          The bags were hard to leave at the station
          like erasing the old address of a friend you
          know you never will speak with again.

          I sat them against a row of chairs near the restroom
          it seemed the most common place an errant suitcase
          might wait for its owner to return relieved and washed

          ready for the next leg of the journey. My arms felt
          burdened though, muscles retracting around the bone
          a slow ache from the wrist up, until I raised my hands

          to the rain and for the first time the palms sheltered me.




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Document last modified on: 11/06/2004

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