Flash Poetry: 7/17 // 8/06

These dates
Constantly timestamped in my head
A history
A trajectory
Of dread and doom
No need of Friday the 13th
My superstitions live these two dates
Over and over again.
These days are made of loss
And grief.
They are made of stolen cars
And thieved-away spirits.
These days a dark blip
in an otherwise bright and
sweltering summer.

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