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NATIVE GRACE / Gillian Conoley Today I have taken the stress on this square block and have tied it up, a special on ion wavelets in little paper sacks that have turned lead gray right in my very own hands. BuUet-colored bags, I had meant to give them to you, complacent brainless one, busy, busy customer, to get rid of my headache and aU the Uttle tiny Unes in my face, dirty hair, slouchy sweater and then be free, Uke the initials of a beautiful stranger, but now I can see this is problematic, too, this is worrisome, you've got your own troubles, I feel terrible and Tm holding these Uttle paper sacks. I'm Louisa the grocery lady, a good smaU businesswoman getting smaUer by the minute. AU you who weep where I used to laugh, (where I dream for the sake of dreams), you'd like to puU the dirt up over me and my native grace. I plod through the honey out of which the city grew. There's nowhere to go but on. You're giving me the business. 80 ยท The Missouri Review ...


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