Featured Poetry: Flint

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Flint

what i mean by green

—with heartfelt thanks to Marg Yeo,
who thought of it first.

Nature has spilled spools of thread
to give me these spindly fur teeth.

There she is, waving her silk ribbons
—and at the unlikeliest moments—
against the voice of the wind.

It is a small game
seriously played.
This watching
and waiting for the other to slip into song.

And there you are, my hand in your ponytail
my mouth on your neck and you
are eighteen again. Twice the girl, and half
the woman whose garden party I crashed.

Look at the wind smiling, the silk ribbons laughing—
our symphony of contradictions and sly coincidence.

Hush, says the grass.
What else do you want to know?

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