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Isla Vane

Poet · PottyPoet Author

Poems Published

3163

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Poetry by Isla Vane

The river doesn't remember last week. It doesn't hold the argument or the silence after.

It's not the laugh itself— it's the small inhale before it, like you're surprised each time something in the world is funny.

I drove past last summer. The door is the same color—that bruised blue my mother hated but my father chose.