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Saturday, June 23, 2012

Of a Forgetful Sea by Kelli Russell Agodon

Sometimes, I forget the sun 
sinking into ocean. 

Desert is only a handful of sand 
held by my daughter.

In her palm, 
she holds small creatures, 
tracks an ant, a flea 
moving over each grain. 

She brings them to places 
she thinks are safe: 

an island of driftwood, 
the knot of a blackberry bush, 
a continent of grass. 

Fire ants carried on sticks, 
potato bugs scooped 
into the crease of a newspaper.

She tries to help them 
before the patterns of tides 
reach their lives.

She knows about families 
who fold together like hands, 
a horizon of tanks moving forward. 

Here war is only newsprint. 

How easy it is not to think about it 
as we sleep beneath our quiet sky, 
slip ourselves into foam, neglectful 
waves appearing endless.

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