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Elizabeth Reddin

Elizabeth Reddin is a writer who lives in Greenpoint, Brooklyn.

Beyond Hope: part 2 and 3

In the dark this isn’t the same. I can’t plan out before I get to you what it will be when we meet. Is this a meeting, you sitting here and I having been sitting. It isn’t that we’re conversing, just changing seats

part three of three in a series: Beyond Hope

I would stay up all night. I hate rejection. Don’t tell me I didn’t say no. Who were the ones you couldn’t get rid of. Who did you honor and for what. How is a slap for not honoring your mother. You wished for someone else’s. You write again what was the day before.

Verdia

I don’t know how people in charge keep their faces forward, or the ones with guns in their hands, how they keep them up. They must never get a long enough break to think; or even get to dream.

part one of three in a series: Beyond Hope

This is the beginning of one hundred days. It is wrong, when to say no— nothing happens, yes nothing happens in the head of one building or one sidewalk. At the top of a generation all things fall over the edges and some will give each one a way of saying. It can’t be you are missing, or that given a slope you react. You can’t ask if we are wanting you; all of we is a silent tall.

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The Brooklyn Rail

NOV 2019

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