Shantih Journal | Page 25

hat will lead you back. Instead

what we’ve done is take the tops off,

send them to China, ask them

to send them back as muffin tins,

plastic whistles and spinning tops,

i-beams, peat moss pots, gadgets.

Oh Virgie, don’t keep all the beets

for yourself. Help the mountain

people through the winter. That’s

your brother’s infant daughter

though he’s somewhere on a ship.

Oh Virgie, if you’ll just pass

the green blue green beans on

to the street, if you’ll block

the mine entrance, if you’ll

pay attention to the silence

in your mother’s stories,

the trees won’t fall and the bears

won’t tromp down into the city,

tired and broken, hard as

the cellar bolt, as the bun

you’ve pulled to the back

of your stern and turned away face.

You’re going to shrink up and die.

The black is in the stream.

It’s in the water. It’s in their lungs.

Go away everyone. Turn away hungry.

Skinny up or eat round powdered packaged donuts.

It doesn't matter anymore. You don't know

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