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Irene Mitchell

an RHP Title Challenge Winner

Three Things that Happened in March

Left with imagination’s wounds,

I let fly over the Baltic a dream

of twenty petrels so tight in flight

they tweaked the Polish border

where there is no glamour

but some notable ancestry.


I extracted from my storehouse

ten-pound peals of laughter

for general buoyancy,

for the days are long and need to be infused

with perks

wherever one may find them.


I waited through March’s two waning moons,

thinking the planets

might conjoin and there would come others

with whom to break bread

if only for general displacement of melancholy

and to shake up any seraphs on pre-dawn standby.


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