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Christmas in New HampshireBy Jennifer Gordon QuailBellMagazine.com Your heavy remembered gentleness Flood and surround me With but a few pretty Little thoughts Slowly gathering inside my head Happiness was when I first saw you It was winter And all I could manage to do Was walk away You were me A picture of tragedy And no one seemed to know Your real name You always thought I hated you The manic gray light of a New Hampshire winter Kisses my face on Christmas Eve Only the dead can describe me In your words And sing the ballad of my face As well as you can The faint smell of alcohol On your breath Dancing its way Across my skin as I sleep Your rumpled bed sheets From the time you slept Next to me I have too much pride To confess that This is all I remember Jennifer was born a strange, pale, and quiet child, a ghost scared of ghosts....Originally from new Hampshire, she studied acting at The New Hampshire Institute of Art. She grew up to become an actress, magician's assistant, artist, writer, dancer, and muse.She currently haunts lonely places in Ohio, though she is not dead.
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