Thursday, November 22, 2018

Daily Dose

From Little Stranger, by Lisa Olstein


When the dentist tells me
he's found a remnent of a baby tooth
hiding alongside my right bicuspid,
I'm born again: eight years old
and bleeding happily beneath
the apple tree, bicycle a small wreck
in the distance, clover light
and eye spots filling the screen.
This is how we know the world:
hit something hard, hit something soft,
sit by a glowing window and watch
the lighted storm swim by.

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