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Questions About the Dead
By Anne Haines

Tell me about something you've killed.

When the dead walk,
how do they move, are they loose
limbed, easy jawed, abrupt?
Do they swing arms, mince
words, camouflage?

Tell me about something you've killed.

Did the dead go easy, do they wish
foreign bones, dirt floors?
Did their blood run, was there passion,
punch line of a joke?

Did the dead dance, did they
wander, lumber heavy as moose?
Will they answer? Will they want?
Do they count the days behind?

Tell me about something you've killed.
Number the steps and the distance
and tell me whose rising
you chart, whose falling you follow.
Tell me the scene and the whole
picture show, after the image
goes dark and the boxes
all rattle like bones,
like questions we ask of the dead.

Stickman End of Poem

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