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issue 5


a poem by
Lyn Lifshin
> bio


He'd bring tea
into the room where
the long transparent
pale chiffon blurred
jays and trees. Three
cats and sometimes
4 circled the fruit
wood dresser. I
Imagined someone like
John Hammond moaning
Black Cat Blues in
the hickory wind,
never dreamed I'd
be in huge beds
alone, only books
that slid to the
floor heavy as a
body. Or that
I'd love it

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