Paper juts from the laser writer.
I lift the page to my face,
close my eyes and breathe
its scent.
Subtle odor, memory
of lollipop sticks.
I smell spoiled milk,
the rotting rose fragrance
of damp paper,
grade school exams.
I recall pages of blurred ink.
Purple-blue ink pressed
on paper through stencils
staining the teacher's hands,
staining memory.
I lay the paper on my desk,
questioning each word,
doubting every phrase.
I labor over the poem again,
struggle and question
and doubt again.
Staining the page the way
hope stains memory.
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