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Aaron Smith
Unneeded
After the storm, the wet trees, hazy sky
and I remember when I was young
in West Virginia, leaving into a life
I believed I would be happy in.
And the humid air. And bird noise. Then nobody
I loved had died yet. My mother
hadn’t sobbed into a phone.
I hadn’t been alone yet, unneeded
the same way I needed. A man
hadn’t given me flowers
in a brown paper bag.
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