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A Hundred Gourds 3:1 December 2013
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A Quiet Rain

words on a white stone
the flag flaps
louder than ever

young boys with water pistols
ride the parade float




heat wave
her proper upbringing
out the window

sunlight
through her sundress




end of the day
the balloon seller calls me
son

riding the rollercoaster
weightless again




late August
the meadow path ends
in a wall of grass

geese and their goslings
now indistinguishable




a quiet
            rain
the language of letting go

disappearing in the mist
the long arc of the bridge







Written via email over the summer of 2013
by Peter Newton, Massachusetts, USA
& Kathe L. Palka, New Jersey, USA




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