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In Girls’ Cabin B

ISSUE:  Winter 1991

At rest-hour a rhythmic
faint squink, squink
in the top bunk
farthest from the counselor:
the two inseparables from
Owl Creek still sitting up
amid spidery rafters,
more or less the same
height now, with legs
tucked under. The tall one
holds more still than
anybody lying down, except
for her eyes following
left to right and right to left
the little one, the one
she always speaks for,
cutting her long
hay-colored hair—one side,
then the other, watching
not to snip her ears,
shorter and shorter as she
tries to even things up
with the crafts-room scissors
before the call for group-time.

Two o’clock: out in the pine-soaked
light, there they are
together again in line,
both blinking a little, as though
they’ve actually napped,
and dreamed this.


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