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Restoration
Pale pieces of me faded
into an empty landscape
until I closed my eyes.
Over black his voice painted
fresh vision from a palette
of shared memories. Blue eyes
blended with green to see
the sunberry smear juicy
kisses across the sky, sticking
the clouds to the horizon.
Our fingers filtered dripping
rays that dyed my dress
a deeper red. And in the mossy
damp we bathed our feet
in blossom bubbles that floated
on the breeze. The wind is blue
today he whispered and placed
a flower in my hand.
Open your eyes and see.
Tamie Gaudet
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Red
Sky at Morning
Here is sunlight,
red sky at morning, and I
take no warning but bend
my head intoxicated
by fields of flowers
dipped blue as sapphire seeds.
Here the canary sunlight
is God who made me
beautiful and ugly, God
who gave me an intaglio
of red sky gleaming past
the wake of dawn, fallen
as prisms to my hair, why
is my heart misshapen?
My monstrous limbs
which should blossom among
the heliotrope and lupine,
are swollen with the half-life
of memory. I limp insufficiency
and God when I fall,
the strongest arms to catch me,
the warmest hands to hold me
aren’t Yours, but a man’s
whose name the flowers whisper.
Shara Faskowitz
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projection
if this were a photograph
instead of a mirror
you
would see who she was
the day before.
eyes closed, colors invert
and like a pebble in a barefoot shoe
size grows to meet the feeling.
petals hover weightless
repelled by static in the imagination
of this perfectly beautiful girl.
she once danced this hillside
without bruising a single petal,
light and lifted gentle.
these the days before
he told her what she was
and she believed.
Jennifer
VanBuren 02/05
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