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from her but doesn't say what. I figure she's either cast up on the Lord's bounty or subsidized by this shirt I've got on. Anyway, Clarence and Polly Edith go on regular as morning glories. She clerks the women for him now. He had to cut his losses. And the week at the altar. But wouldn't it be odd if I heard that voice? What talk that raged for a while has died down--the whole story of the voice and the clothes and the truck. But I think of it a lot, particularly out here working in my flowerboxes. I'm a churchgoer, confirmed every if these geraniums spoke to me? She is a Deer I am an Otter She walks in woods I play in water Our totems align In friendship and views Her heart is a Dancer Mine is a Muse. We feel the same tremors Alert for the word To feed at the trough Or disperse with the herd. The ground that she grazes Yields cramps of fear. Her hoofprints uneven Lead back to his lair. I wait on my rock For nature's assent Dive free for my supper My spirit unspent. -Patricia McKee
Appalachian Review – University of North Carolina Press
Published: Jan 8, 1992
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