In the middle of every field, obscured from the side by grass or cornhusks, is a clearing where she works burying swans alive into the black earth. She only buries their bodies, their wings. She packs the dirt tight around their noodle necks & they shake like long eyelashes in a hurricane. She makes me feed
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How about an oak leaf if you had to be a leaf? Suppose you had your life to live over knowing what you know? Suppose you had plenty of money "Get away from me you little fool." Evening of a day in early March, you are like the smell of drains in a restaurant where paté maison is a slab of cold meat loaf damp