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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
guest editor: Sara Biggs Chaney
Afterword
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