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Anne Piper


waiting for chemical ease to engage,
gazing, abstracted, at flowers.
only the tips of the gayfeathers blooming—
that purple, clean as crayon.
craning her neck still hurts.
now clouds shoved aside by sun;
pea blossoms turning to pods. birdsong.
bag of weeds. her big mute brain
finally meshing with vicodin,
pushing pain away for a while.

she softens her focus, tries to see
the supposed auras of trees.
sky thick as plasma around their tips,
the breeze pulsing on.
clover like pointillism in the lawn.
a random dandelion deployed.
neighbors shattering sound with a saw.
wind now scattering her.

Anne Piper has published poems in a variety of journals, including Sleet, Poetry East, Water~Stone, Black Warrior Review, and others. One of her poems is imprinted in sidewalks in St. Paul, MN, where she lives. Anne received an MFA from Hamline University in 2008.

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