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L a u r e n   G o r d o n



Your poem is learning language,

how to ask for what she wants

and then your poem is yelling


at the dog in a perfect imitation

of your voice so you think:

I have to be more


but then you catch your poem

kissing her reflection in a teaspoon

and suddenly your poem is toddling


without your hands and there you are

under the glass

like a pressed, breathless violet.




copyright 2014 by Lauren Gordon

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