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Maud Coulter
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Perishable
Sonrisa
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Perishable
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Inconsistent little sisters
With straight hair,
Skinny limbs.
Slivers of shaved ice
In soggy cardboard cups,
Freezing up brown tinted lies.
He asked her about it
And she lied over telephone.
Legs crossed,
Dripping painted pink nails.
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Sonrisa
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I’m smoking a cigarette back in the alley during your wake and I hear black shoes
approaching the line on the wet cement. Metal connecting, umbrellas opening.
This morning I found your watercolor kit under the passenger’s seat in my car. The brush
brittle and stained with the color blue and I remembered you
painting rain clouds just last week, complaining about this April rain.
I flick off the gray sky. Flick off the raindrops. Flick off you.
I’m going to confiscate that painting and hang it in my living room. You always told me that my walls were too bare.
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Maud was the last to learn how to read in her first grade class. The teacher's aide, Katie, patiently tutored her day after day, month after month. They sat together on a worn out rocking chair in the back of the classroom where the backpacks and coats hung. Katie always smelled like bitter coffee. Then one day, Maud finally got it...the concept of words. The first word she read on her own was "circle". Now, nothing pleases her more than reading a good book with her kitten curled up in her lap.
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