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August 6, 2008

We could fold ourselves into a thousand
paper cranes each nestled snug into the one
child’s bright life spread upon moving waters
out into summer, swans, fireworks bursting
too soon, a flash in the pan of August
that burns out monograms on schoolboy shirts
and leaves alone little girls’ lunchboxes
to witness, as if we would otherwise
forget shadows scorched into a stair
at sunrise, a tricycle crusted black
before a father’s disinterred grief,
dome of bricks resisting fall, finally
to wing perhaps a yellow paper sky
above a flame with no ash to deny.

by Katherine Durham Oldmixon

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  1. August 6, 2008 at 10:20 am

    on a day when storms threaten
    not of fire
    but of rain

  2. August 7, 2008 at 9:17 am

    Searing, beautiful. Thanks.

  3. Robert Elzy
    August 7, 2008 at 11:13 am

    There’s nothing more important to say and say well, and you’ve done it.

  4. oriana
    August 10, 2008 at 12:47 pm

    I absolutely love the first two lines.

  5. Janet McCann
    August 13, 2008 at 11:12 am

    This is frighteningly beautiful.

  6. October 24, 2008 at 11:50 am

    I get a nice smooth mental image of peace and calm.

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