Winter 2008 • Vol. XXX No. 1 PoetryJanuary 1, 2008 |

Gravity

That afternoon I kept seeing the earth without us, its glass face wiped clean. The maples were a different shade from last year. I stood there, thinking how a tornado does not rush through but takes a rough bounce down, collects, then again. The closet mirror lay in the garden, stones around its sunlight, one red leaf at the center of reflection. I wanted to root that leaf, to watch the light move in and out. Fall wine on my tongue to swallow, the moss below damp like a pet's grass-scented belly. I began to feel as clear as water but with that heaviness too. Wind on the mirror.

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That afternoon I kept seeing the earth without us, its glass face wiped clean. The maples were a different shade from last year. I stood there, thinking how a tornado […]

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