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Dark Magic From inside the black envelope I slide a pressed lock of hair onto my palm, shape of a comma, small animal curled in sleep. If these were silk threads on the fabric store rack the spool would rest between burgundy and autumn brown. You laughed when I warned against sending hair— material for voodoo, I said, remembering the man in New Orleans who brought a paper sack to the barber, swept his cut hair from the checkered floor and carried it home for proper burial—Never know when it could fall into the wrong hands, he rasped. Foolish woman,  Dumesnil PGS:Layout 1 4/28/09 12:32 PM Page 73 don’t you know touching this only makes me want more? The hungry inside me kick up their greed. Light the black candles, cast the spell— I am the night breeze pushing gauze drapes, the tangled curl licking your breast, the wing-beat pulse between your thighs.  Dumesnil PGS:Layout 1 4/28/09 12:32 PM Page 74 ...

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