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in the young


ISSUE:  Winter 2015

we love them too much 
to see them—
the young ones: cloaked 
in their national faces of beauty / 
safe in their ridiculous shoes :: warmed as if 
wrapped in robes woven
from the hair of ancestors 
we—their prairie handmaidens 
we love them too much
to love them / we release them
like salmon to spawn and want them 
to absorb us like pollen
take us up to be loaded /
fermented and spun into honey 
or taken back 
to be eaten and lived in—
chewed up and spat into comb  

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