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396 | Eleven More American Women Poets in the 21st Century Like Something Flying Backwards When a word here and there was starting to escape. There is some hope that she may yet. Even by herself could work herself into a fit. Often thought of death in daylight before washing, before touching a switch. Written purely out of love for the calm it offered for to calm someone else is calming, whether or not one can calm oneself. If never delivered never so intended. Her vocabulary refined by years of looking through the screen at the lilac that absorbed her witness. So many contradictory measures taking up their positions. The ubiquitous sense of scarcity especially where there was plenty. So much turbulence in choosing. She had to jimmy her way in. Even an attempt to change her seating assignment. All of her experience still looking for a language. Honestly if she were able she would haul in one of the more animate clouds. The following spring she promised herself to plant a white lilac. She would take up her old position, hands folded, head back waiting for the visions. ...

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