The wind is wildly throwing
itself through the trees,
and the streets.
And the trees, they are bending and twisting.
Peyote dancers feeling into the world
beneath the world.
The sound is like the ocean
slamming itself against the steady shore.
Then the wind seems to inhale.
Silence.
Just like when the water goes from noisy simmer
to boil.
For a moment it’s quiet.
Then the papers fly off the tables and
the cat...
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By Pam Bolton and Kathleen MacGregor
What if I told you
It was me?
I picked up the stone
And threw it
At the bird’s nest
And knocked it down
To the ground
And all the babies died.
What if I told you
It was me?
I took the jumping mouse
From the jaws, the paws
Of the cat
And held it
Warm in my palms
Until, hours later,
It died.
What if I told you
All day yesterday
I didn’t care
And the day before
I...
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It’s August.
September’s on the way.
This is the time
when she weighs
herself down
with lists, classes, meetings
chores have-tos and
should-dos.
A kind of lust
Has come in.
The sea wants
to carry her away
to a foreign country.
With or
without her family.
With or
without saying
Good-bye.
With or
without coming back.
No thought of returning now-
only flight.
A kind of lust,
so hard to resist.
But resisted,...
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