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Timothy GreenThanksgiving Was Over
so she baked Christmas cookies while he trapped it barely buzzed, half-hibernating, his hand unstung dreaming itself somewhere else—the heart And so he let it go like a wish in the woods. Milk poured slow-motion in a glass behind them, wore their charred feet, doughy scars; And so they ate each other there, crumb by crumb,
First published in DINER (Spring/Summer 2005). Return to Volume 1.5 |
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All files © 2005-2012 Blood Orange Review |
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