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automatically looking behind him to be wanted to look at Sarah. To listen to sure that no one was coming. He opened her. He wanted to listen to her. He the door and crawled in. He was cold wanted to listen to her, to look at her and damp with sweat. Heavy and old. eyes, her dark brown eyes, her smooth It would be so good just to put his head face, her soft neck. He wanted to touch down on the steering wheel and sleep, her clean, soft neck. Sleep. He was so tired. He had to go home. There was something waiting for He turned off the emergency signal him at home. He had to see Sarah. He and started the car. Travelogue The woman in purple Had shown her sixty-third slide And the audience was one vast doze Between the regrets of yesterday And the fret of tomorrow When I was awakened By a picture of cloudsShe didn't know where— But taken from her window seat Somewhere over southern Appalachia And something whispered in my head About always looking down from a plane And up from underground, Where every miner measures himself Against an outside clock That circles around tragedy With the airborne Suspended over terror and time, Seldom allowing us a level head. —Barbara Smith 44 ...

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