
Barn Dance
Poetry
Today’s caller takes the shape
of a child who emerged
from the fault line
after the earthquake
everyone knew would
come. Her cobweb
teeth, her leaded eyes—
she carries a lambskin
scroll we need to read
but we’re busy tallying
our damages, waiting
for the underwriter
while the hold music drones,
while the hold music drones.
Suggested Reading
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Poetry
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Poetry
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Poetry