emptied all of us there
daniel joseph
we didn’t know it was our stop until it emptied all of us there in the dark of the street lights that were missing from the city we thought we were staying in, but which left us many stops ago, & so we followed the crowd up the curb into what was once maybe a field or yard, but now was forest floor without the height of forest above, into what was now pear trees & gnarled apple bark next to tomato plants that exploded out & around & over the bits of broken fence that seemed more meant to lift than contain, that fostered the tentacles of what looked most definitely like a vine, winding around everything, offering little red sweets we plucked, eating as we lugged our luggage past squashes & peppers & small pumpkins to what, although the roof was moss covered & the shingles broken, we could only assume might be the place we were told we could lay our heads.
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