Blackbirdan online journal of literature and the artsSpring 2011 v10n1
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The Delinquent Girls

Were we never stones? No, we never were.
The day never washed over us. We never cooled
with twilight. We were busy prowling

by the river, sending our lit eyes into tree hollows,
beneath parked cars. We kept our muscles taut
with running. We outpaced each other. Our hackles

up all night, the wind an accomplice, or sometimes
a snitch. When the sun came up, we were near dead,
smiling in our sleep, our big teeth showing. When

the dark rolled round again, we were silver sighted,
wrapped in smoke and ready. We howled. Oh yes.
Listen. Our throats still know how to find the rawest song.  end

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