For All the Tiny Sneezes by Cynthia Belmont
After the Fire by Jon Martin
If every sneeze is a little death then some people are going very gentle into that good night on a daily basis : the modern straitlaces , the ones inside , have bound them up so tight you ’ re just tiny sneezes like women who had too many doors slammed in their youth , like flames trembling on their wicks in a solemn breeze
in a drafty church where the currency is ( as always ) shame . Barely a sneeze , more like a hard swallow or dainty choke , more like a fluttering hand in front of a sneeze than the sneeze itself , or the high-pitched snap of a taut wire or alarm bell in a Barbie-sized fire station warning : Fire ! Sweet innocent baby dragon ’ s breath of a feminine fire ! Don ’ t worry , no harm done .
Lady sneezes , come on now , come out wherever you are . The sneeze is a bud that ripens within as a delicious itch and is , like the rest of the body , an instrument of pleasure . The sneeze has something to say : You can ’ t stop this ! And why try ? Do it up . Loose the balloons . And , Baby , bless you .
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