| Bekahbrunstetter February 9 | There they just are, in a stack by the door, just hanging out, waiting to be held and flipped through and spilled on, collected. When I was in high school I kept all of mine, I put them in plastic shadow boxes and hung them on my wall, to remind me of all I'd seen. Ragtime and Lion King, Doubt and Wicked And I am my Own Wife. Now my name's in one and some Chelsea from Jersey or Wisconsin or Connecticut will take hers home and add it to her stack, show her friends from Drama Club, or maybe leave in on the train by accident. It'll fall out of her purse on eighth avenue, get stepped on, rained on, it'll become a part of the city, it's trash, it's big hopeful dreams, its ground. | | | |
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