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52 Palm Beach Poetry Festival: First Night I wake every hour, as if my child had a fever, or my cat was about to explode. I wake, can’t remember my name, why I’m alone, in this hotel. I’m awakened by titles spilling out on the pillow, characters walking through a revolving door: cowboys, debutants, little people carrying bundles, dogs in jet skis hurled through windows. I wake pressing my hand to my chest, ready to get up but it’s the middle of a harsh night. I wake looking for someone to race down to Delray Beach, where the winds are blowing everyone blind. I’m awakened by the thunderous night ocean, scent of seaweed, salt, jasmine seeping through sliding doors from the balcony where a tipsy chair rattles against the railing. I wake anxious for words to come as fast as a sudden downpour, so I can lay them on paper like a meal served to the hungriest guest. I wake every hour like my grandmother when I’d sleep over, checking to be sure I was placed in the middle of the bed, in the middle of the night when I’d wake 53 excited to be in this different place, damp, holding, wanting to ignite my own clear expression of mixed feelings. ...

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