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Tagliterary journal

La Strada

L
by Veronica Golos

The woman standing at the door of her hut. Blazing sun, the air clouded with insects. The girl, you, skinnier than in the film, hungry thin, owl eyes; blistered roads, never meant for auto or truck or

tank. The silence here is heavy, another burden, the girl, you, thin as whitethorn. Threshed from your own flesh.

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