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  • Minnehaha Creek
  • Weston Cutter (bio)

We were looking for something more powerful. Startle      of starlight, sodium bulbs buzzing dim and steadyas a headache. And the stairs leading down, then down                again: the old creek choked with, what—

same old pennies. And not even unfolded wishes. Late      enough and in the wind the willow limbs touchedsteady moving water like what, like words, like this:                We were looking for something new

to sing along to, the water humming against the stream      -bed's stones, against the path of rocks too unstableto walk across but for one week, two out of the year. And                what of those old matchbooks? The

scribbled notes we never meant to remember this long. Never      meant to keep. We were walking toward where onewater fell upon another water, where grass turned to mud                turned to the music of passing. How

little we can ever see, even with everything all nightlit,      plain and laid out as a whisper. Remind me, we said,put our hands beneath that water, feeling for movement. Show                me again, we said, one silence into another. [End Page 35]

Weston Cutter

Weston Cutter is from Minnesota and has had work published recently in Boxcar Poetry and Hawai'i Pacific Review and has work forthcoming in Controlled Burn and Southern Indiana Review.

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