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Cover: Clichy Glassworks (Cristalleries de Clichy), France. Paperweight, ca. 1845-60. The Art Institute of Chicago
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Breathing Lessons
I’ve been to Ketchikan but never Denali, watched a butterfly herd on Santiam Pass, caught a star with my left hand one late summer night. Whenever my feet slip the slopes, I come back to the start. Breathe in, breathe out. Sometimes, the world is too damn beautiful.
The Next Morning
Bright yellow soaked the hotcakes, dripped from forks, coated my tongue like canary blood. It could’ve been morning in another area code. I don’t remember.
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March, Here
The grape hyacinth are in bed with the strawberries, upright and bold, refusing the sly ways of summer.
Mystery comes later on hot afternoons, bare peaches. In spring, tulips stand
like adolescent dogs on hind legs, fierce sun glints through blinds at dinnertime,
all the vernal accessories give off an innocent whiff. The scent could throw you,
if you didn’t know virginity is self-possession and even the grass is rutting.
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Keli Osborn © 2023
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