Sunday, January 13, 2008


while other girls found in their
recessing lunchyard fruit some
giddy, unlikely romance, she only cored,
alone in her angel white hair,
distanced from the jungle and its
convoluted gymnasiums.
she could peel through layering skin
with the ease and agility of
dragonflies passing through tall weeds,
both deeply probing towards moistness,
abiding nonsense with a peaceful
rain-like smile (rendering
her yellow spread umbrella
itself cloud-like).
the eyes, too, were clean and as mirrors—
stilled storms, gray,
herself coolly pulsing with circularity,
a lofty precipitation over her playmates,
she’d then be dropped (like, also, a drop:
unnoticed) to the
soil’s low immediacy,
to be trod and skipped on muddily, blithely,
until Ms. Hansen’s most herdful of

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