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I tattooed this suitcase on my heart,
this doorway on my ankle.
I spoke the words, proclaimed sainthood
baptised in train station coffee and placed
plane tickets between my teeth like offerings.
You call on a God often enough, they’ll find you,
like foxes and a hen house.
‘There’s always somewhere other than here.’
I said, and I should have learnt by now; you
tempt Fate,
- she takes what she wants.
/Patron Saint Of Doorways.
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