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1<!DOCTYPE html>
2<!-- AUTOCENTO OF THE BREAKFAST TABLE -->
3<!-- vim: fdm=indent
4-->
5<html lang="en">
6<head>
7<meta charset="utf-8">
8<meta name="generator" content="pandoc">
9<meta name="viewport" content="width=device-width, initial-scale=1.0, user-scalable=yes">
10<meta name="author" content="Case Duckworth">
11
12<title>Last passenger | Autocento of the breakfast table</title>
13<link rel="icon" type="image/png" href="trunk/favico.png" />
14
15<link rel="stylesheet" type="text/css" href="trunk/style.css">
16<script src="scripts/randomize.js" type="text/javascript"> </script>
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18
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20<script src="http://html5shim.googlecode.com/svn/trunk/html5.js"> </script>
21<![endif]-->
22</head>
23<body id="last-passenger" class="autocento">
24
25<article class="container">
26<header>
27<!-- title -->
28<h1 class="title">Last passenger</h1>
29
30
31<div class="header-extra">
32
33</div>
34</header>
35
36
37<section class="content verse">
38<p><span class="line">Memory works strangely, <a href="roughgloves.html">spooling its thread</a></span><span class="line">over the <a href="when-im-sorry-i.html">nails of events</a> barely related,</span><span class="line">creating finally some picture, if we’re</span><span class="line">lucky, of a life—but more likely, it knots</span><span class="line">itself, catches on a nail or in our throats</span><span class="line">that gasp, as it binds our necks, for air.</span></p>
39<p><span class="line">An example: today marks one hundred years</span><span class="line">since your namesake, the last living passenger</span><span class="line">pigeon, died in Cincinnati. It also marks</span><span class="line">a year since we last spoke. Although around</span><span class="line">the world, zoos mourn her loss, I’m done</span><span class="line">with you. I mourn no more your voice, the first</span><span class="line">sound I heard outside my body that reached</span><span class="line"><a href="weplayedthosegamestoo.html">into my throat and set me ringing</a>. But that string—</span></p>
40<p><span class="line">memory that feels sometimes more like a tide</span><span class="line">has yoked together, bound your voice to that bird,</span><span class="line">the frozen, stuffed, forgotten pigeon—my heart</span><span class="line">is too easy, but it must do—to blink, to flex</span><span class="line">its unused toes, slowly thaw to the wetness</span><span class="line">of <a href="cold-wind.html">beating wings</a>, fly to me again, and alight,</span><span class="line">singing full-throated, on my broken shoulder.</span></p>
41</section>
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45<a href="backlinks/last-passenger.html" id="backlinks" title="Links to this page">
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