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Cinthia Ritchie

Bird Creek, Alaska

14 August 2009
Vol. 9, No. 2

Spruce trees smell

wicked at night

we lie in lavender

twilight we think

we are so clever with our pale

bodies and sly-tongued minds

Tofu and Potatoes

11 August 2009
Vol. 9, No. 2
poetry, prose poem

It is evening and the dark climbs through the window, sits down beside us on the couch, demands the remote control. We curl our legs together, socks to socks, my hand pressed on your lower belly. "What if you suddenly stopped breathing," I say, imagining your death, the funeral, the useless black shoes. I smile, bury my nose in your dirty dark hair.

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