In the Eastside of Any CityMichael Rerick
The masoned church’s thick doors open Sundays, certain saint days, charitable on hinges, secretive with locks; inside candles and arched ceilings hum, outside the eastside says “How long must I noun before you?” as a thin coat of rain changes the color of the ground. Not far off, the cemetery spreads. Rain in the maple, oak, and pine, over names wearing less and less of themselves. The theater runs the documentary Three CEOs. “I cannot believe a woman can be stripped of her identity and roam the streets.” “The packs-of-children-in-foreign-countries-begging-for-change myth outrages me.” “Those corner men need ride opportunity.” The film fails under suspicion of success.
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