ELINOR PUSCHKAREVICH
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THE DEPARTURE

In my father's face,
two knives lit up;
his hands shook with the pain
that wreathed him.
In a glance led astray
a moonless horizon
and fires crackling
he braced himself.
With bottomless resignation,
he began his long farewell,
over the bed of solitudes
that enveloped the story of his life.