The Hills
The sadness climbs in, up over tiny hills of hopefulness
And moments of joy, watching Jennings fly down a hill,
Trying a slice of bread from a fresh loaf, sun-baked
Florida afternoon by a pool.
It takes little effort to cry alone in an elevator, the mask
I wear hides a frown in a grocery store aisle,
The smile doesn’t have to
Reach down close to my sternum where all the rocks sit
At the bottom of the hills, the darling, fragile hills
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