Fall 2010 • Vol. XXXII No. 4 Poetry |

Gift

A mix-up, and a package from you has arrived two weeks after you. White box painted with red and yellow flowers             bright as patois. No perches like on a birdhouse--- A butterfly house. Each slot hardly wider than a match---                   the wings must have to shut together to enter. Do the butterflies fly in without stopping---             clapped-closed and no stopping? You were dry, thin. Lips thin as the line around a country. The box has come without instructions.       This is not sadness. I come in and out of the blunt. Why would they want to be in there, darker than an inside. I will not retract a single angle of your face

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Draw into your room the

By Daneen Wardrop

A mix-up, and a package from you has arrived two weeks after you. White box painted with red and yellow flowers             bright as patois. No perches like on a birdhouse--- […]

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