Ask the Children

The youngest know. They know boot crunch from tank whir, missile whistle from rocket whine. They can count seconds to boom and brazen light bursts,

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The Pupil

Vowels in the trickle of a fountain, chasing mosquitoes over a fake pond: ‘A’, ‘E’, ‘AA’, ‘EE’, ‘EI’, ‘IJ’, ‘UI’… Bueno. De nuevo. The low

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Just Girls

We were black and white girls with backyard passages so we              wouldn’t have to go around the block and knock, wouldn’t alert our brothers or

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And Now

If butterflies could claw deep, draw blood, not just light and flutter, then they would be our conversations, our not touching, anchors as winds steal

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Oxygen

A machine detecting dye, the parrypadding into the room where he lies,wordless, feet stilled and arms bound.His glasses have been removed, his pockets emptied.  A

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February On the Herengracht*

Snow,not the kind that heralds frozen waterways,an eleven-city race on skates, but a changeon the cheek, a white sky smile.Slow mist and snow, gulls glissade

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The farm

In fits and starts, births and afterbirths,there was blood in the grass that year. Later, she would remember everythingbut the news; adventures need endings. The

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Cacao

There are mornings when the city still smells of chocolate, inchoate, industrial. No one notices. Yet many find themselves suddenly slipping, talking of other gone

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Scavenger Hunt

And at the end of the day we felt we knew him less. We’d started with objects and foibles gathering dust. The Oriental Lady with

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