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Poet Reading for Kathryn Stripling Byer Each poem was a stationary dance: lifting her sturdy left foot behind her and marking time with it in the charged air, she pressed an open palm in the small of her back as if gliding across the floor to someone who would mirror her movements, swaying left and right, then raising high the hand that had written the very words that she and her partners were now dancing to. —Michael McFee 14 ...

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