echo's vigil

Libby McDonnell

out of a dark theater into the bright almost white of midday. the story threads into her lone
footsteps and passers by. the film's cool palette and the drafty theater recede under the glare
of this real day. all around her beauty keeps frowning, surfacing and re-surfacing like it needs
more and more air.

something could have been different. what did most of them want but to tuck her into their
shadows, into the air at the small of their backs? mean trick of a beautiful sheen, the thought
gnaws, weaving traffic into the narrative seam so that if they turned, she’d have to turn with

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