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Gloria by Eileen Tull

I came to this place to be alone, but all I want is to talk to a stranger

I let a palm leaf brush against my face

And my heart stops when I see my mother

Her face transplanted on some other middle-aged lady with glasses

Sometimes I forget she's dead

Maybe because she isn't yet

In this place

I walk through romantic gardens

Admiring the dramatic geometry

Vivid hues, sweet scents

Choosing the only bench that sways when I sit

Always choosing broken things

Or was it alright until I got here

It's a cruel trick that altitude sickness feels like anxiety

Shouldn't I just power through

When I'm gone, where will they put me

A small plaque, bronzing out my name

And a bench that frets and sags to greet you

Come here to be alone

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