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We backed up to the open bay, jumped
out of the cab, zipped our jackets
and took our places between two masses
of rock salt left over from the..
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She won’t make it today; she knows
but still scratches in the console
for quarters
backhands the little b***h
in the backseat. Her buc..
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We were studying Chopin
when the plane flew over us,
and I imagined a spotted owl
quiet in the cavity of a redwood
until a chainsaw revved..
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As a child, Madeline dropped her feet
in the swimming pool and sent waves
in two directions, bent herself
at every j..
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Were they to have written her out of the will
she would have walked all the way
to the far side of the estate,
where..
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I remember a stretch of Route 4, on the way
to Kennebago, Maine. After the superstores
had vanished, along with the Kittery shores,
summer hom..
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I would
write about the sun again.
I would write about the juniper,
turning brown. I would write
about the orchard..
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I would like to diveinto a sea of dead lettersand let myself turn paper thin,to wait alone in a taxifor a lady heading home.And as she stumbles by,lef..
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Nobody picks on the ivyfor slouching, or for creepingover the edge of the plastic potfor tapping one tentacle along the silland finding the window lev..
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If I am still, the flieswill not stay.They will not waitfor me to lose patience,nor will they lick their lipsand whistle at my sister.They are the lea..
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