He stared from eyes whose color we could not make out
hair like a dog on a rainy afternoon
He would run the woods by the development
dressed in green except for worn out converse
that were never tied.
He dug a hole in the woods and sat in it
pulling fallen leaves of maples, sycamores until
he reclined covering his head.
He never spoke only stared and we more out of
fear than anything else never spoke to him.
He went into the woods one day and never came out
and we never knew what he was hiding from
we never asked.
His sister began dancing with cats in her backyard singing
songs we didn’t know twirling from fence post to fence
post for hours.
She would speak to us for a few minutes, never of her
brother, returned to her performance. She never went into
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by Don Tassone
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