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The End of a Retreat

On the final night of retreat, I saw something that I knew I could not describe with a photo, only with words.  This is, above all, my favourite poem from retreat.

If I walk out of my dormitory,

My stomach warm and full of

Chamomile tea,

All I see are two empty chairs

And the scraps

Of papers once important.

The circle once filled with people

Is empty and silent.

My cup hangs from my hand as I

Slowly pace and hear

The ghosts of a

Graduating class.

Dedicated to the graduating class of 2011.

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About E.K.M.

Studying at university, passing the time until a publishing Talent Scout comes to pick me up and whisk me away to a world where I can be an author without having another source of income. If only.

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