Summer/Fall 1997 • Vol. XIX No. 3/4 PoetryJuly 1, 1997 |

Saint Animal

Suddenly it was clear to me— I was something I hadn't been before. It was as if the animal part of my being had reached some maturity that gave it authority, and had begun to use it. thought about death for two years. My animal flailed and tore at its cage till I let it go. I watched it drift out into the easy eddies of twilight and then veer off, not knowing me. I'm not a bird but I'm inhabited by a spirit that's uplifting me. It's my animal, my saint and soldier, my flame of yearning, come back to tell me what it was like to be without me.

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My Lethe

By Chase Twichell

Suddenly it was clear to me— I was something I hadn't been before. It was as if the animal part of my being had reached some maturity that gave it […]

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