Blackbirdan online journal of literature and the artsSpring 2015  v14n1
an online journal of literature and the arts
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Out here
in the cowboy’s tee shirt,
anyone could see me, should they look.
I take it back, disjointed
longing, retract
changing the body into abstract grief.
The artist next door adjusts
his light. It feels like
a beach house in NJ,
an outdoor shower,
wet stones, crabs for dinner.
Seventy degrees, the internet is down.
I want to remind you
of what will be easier.
Any woman in my position
would have
him fetch the tea, push the swing,
cut out a circle in the woods.
That Fragonard life. Everything can be
true.  end  

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