In the ending to the story I never write
there are one hundred windows
in the movie theater and
the boy knows how to signal
with a flashlight.

Each time the boy gets hurt
the morning breaks again,
and a different boy is launched
down the glowing exit row
of the movie theater.

In this way, the boy can never die.

It’s like nothing you’ve ever read,
because it’s all reduced:
one boy, one brilliant blue
thumbprint of sky,
one day opening
turquoise, hollow and enormous,
all at once.

Nora Claire Miller is a rising senior at Hampshire College concentrating in poetry and archival studies. Nora’s work has appeared in H.O.W. Journal and The Reader.

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