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D.C.
KLEIN

Part II

They both smiled. My father said something. The TV turned on. My mother and father began talking. Madilynn held my arm and I swore I heard loud noises, animal, some ruckus outside, in the sky, or the trees. Then the sound was inside. It was dark out. I was younger, in my bedroom before it was an office and a closet. My mother shouts my father’s name, and then I call the police. Yet, simultaneously, while I’m holding the phone and dialing the police, my mother is biting my hand, and the phone, and both, and my father walks through the door after being bailed out, and he is me, and I am afraid of him, and I am driving away in the back of a van with my belongings and I am screaming, “I hate you!”, and I am also in my parents’ living room listening to them calmly chat about what we’ll eat for lunch while the TV plays.

D.C. Klein is a small - time poet. His writing has been published by, or is forthcoming with: Counterclock, Body Fluids, Broken Antler, and the Salmon Creek Journal. He is currently reading South by Babak Lakghomi. D.C. can be found on Instagram @kleindcklein.

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