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| Poetry Please start one thread for your own poetry and just add to it! |
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#11 |
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Truly Madly Deeply ![]() Join Date: Aug 2011
Location: In My Head
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A PASTURE OF MY PALM
Robin Becker Trembling, desirous, above the display case, I hovered with my child’s palm. Beneath, porcelain palominos stamped their feet and foals stood with their long legs splayed. I longed to take one home, to place it on a shelf and study the raised leg, the frothy mane. Then cupping the horse’s shape in my hand, I’d make a pasture of my palm, a field. No one was looking, no one, I reasoned, would know I swiped it, toy in my pocket. That night I stroked the caramel china. I was galloping, when my mother walked into my room. She knew I was lying. (The horse? a gift…) I cried when she told me we’d speak with the manager the next day. In his office I stood, wept, but even then I was really crying for the cheap horse back in the glass case, my mother, my foolish and punishable desires, the future taking shaping: coral, stampede.
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The reason facts don’t change most people’s opinions is because most people don’t use facts to form their opinions. They use their opinions to form their “facts.” Neil Strauss |
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