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NaPo #22: Hunting

Hunting You see it in a picture, stand on your head, imagine how the walls might meet at that angle though it’s obviously impossible. Impossible, too, that someone deliberately chose that color for the...

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NaPo #23: Tennis

Tennis The exercise was always in the chase. I think the yellow fuzz hid eyes and legs that helped the balls skip underneath the fence and skitter down the street. My mother sighed and listed on her...

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NaPo #24: Curling

Curling Then you get your feet set right push and glide and the ice rolls out behind you like a satin ribbon and you don’t stop sliding past every line past the walls go clear past the ice and the man...

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NaPo #25: Nesting

Nesting The cat sits in his basket like a fat hen brooding over eggs. I remember my mother’s complaints about being sent to fetch the eggs each morning, the way the hens would peck. But if I reach my...

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Audio of Letters of

Recording of NaPo #11: “Letters of” http://www.juliecarter.net/blog/wp-content/uploads/2015/04/Letters-of.mp3

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NaPo #26: Migraine

Migraine I try to describe the way the kaleidoscope stumbles around the center of my vision like a drunkard and I wonder where my hands are. Wikipedia has an artist’s rendering of auras, oh, forgive me...

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NaPo #27: Demonstrative

Demonstrative We got an email that there were protestors at the corner, and that explains the traffic weirdness we can see out the window facing the other way. Otherwise, we would be hidden up in our...

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NaPo #28: And your little red

And your little red My father was a Big Red, but small. He laughed when he said he was on the football team and we all marveled at the shrimpiness of the 50s and his twiggy legs. But his hair was red,...

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NaPo #29: Whirlygig

Whirlygig I always saw four wings spinning and wondered at the species of bird, butterfly winged (but someone will tell me that butterflies have eight wings, or twenty, or only one) and blue. The cat...

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NaPo #30: Smaller

Smaller His head is. You can brush the thick fur back to show the line of his jaw, the way his eyes are full of sparking branches and somehow bigger than his TARDIS skull. And my memory is, or...

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You aren’t missing anything

I’d recommend against reading him.

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NaPo #27: Clouds

Clouds The sky is closer here. I step outside and through it parting like a silent crowd for an Olympic sprint with flames that died.

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NaPo #28: Laundering

Laundering 1. He likes the detergent pods, but I wear a shirt after and it smells of swamp or something tidal, dying against my skin. Like a dog chasing my tail I try to turn quickly enough to catch my...

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NaPo #29: Mock trial

Mock trial I’ll be a witness, someone sobbing out a Perry Mason fantasy of epiphanies, a gasp of “you!” and the music goes dun dun dun, someone should scream, her hand curled shaking around her throat...

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NaPo #30: Metro

Metro And he sat down on the edge of my jacket, then looked at me startled when I tugged it out, the drag of the zipper odd under his khakied thigh. And then I looked up and his eyes were like does’...

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Bird ID

Terrible pictures, but you can see the tail end of a grey bird with a black tail that is at the far side of the suet feeder, to the left.

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Scorch

Scorch When were we going to call the guy in again with his potional chemicals– some sort of injection to save the leaves? He said it wouldn’t die and he’s right so far. Not dead. Maybe dying. There’s...

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Withal

Withal The air is often softer here than there. Here, lights expand like helium balloons, each with its own fat cloud of silver air. Here, the trees are unsure when to turn. They ponder on it. There,...

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Postseason

Postseason When it’s your boys, when they are yours you hope just for them to run off the field with heads high. You hope for nothing but the shininess of pride, the quick gold glitter of no mistakes,...

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Cockatrice

Cockatrice Here is where the pillows are sweet with sweat and hair and the nest of the bed hatches something in the night. This bestiary now, bring in that one to let me be so still.

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