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Annual Letter Home by Devin Snell

  • mclaspires
  • Feb 26, 2018
  • 1 min read

Death was  summer camp. Untied shoe laces, blue balls. Sun meant waking up. I left mud stained on her dress,  leaving the mound after a long game. Weeks are months are years,   cabin fever. My eyes are leeches in the water. My body never remembers to mail letters.

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