by Ronnie Sirmans
(From South Carolina Review, Fall 2011)
Reading a printed poem, what I thought
was an orphaned closing parenthesis
amid a stanza detailing a quotidian epiphany
was simply my eyelash that had fallen just so,
so that it could masquerade as a dark mark.
I brushed away the mobile punctuation,
and so my reading had already paused
even though a comma wasn’t there either
in the now empty space between words.
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