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Everything I did I did for the music,
shouting to birds in flight above me I think you’ve made enough sense for today. I hope that you’re nothing like me I write on a postcard to the future, I hope the unfamiliar, like a blanket or a lamp, touches everything mysterious and free. When I had the floor I talked about witches and domestic labor until it was clear everyone was uncomfortable. Almost a chant but too graceless I mumble to the mirror Laura you don’t need to recognize everything either in or outside, all right? You don’t need to know the word for it. My favorite part was when we gave everything away except the radio, which hardly worked, traded names, held hands in a circle waiting by the gas station for our ride to arrive. |
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Laura Henriksen’s poems and reviews have appeared in or are forthcoming from P-Queue, The Brooklyn Rail, Jacket2, and High Noon, among other places. Her first chapbook, Agata, was just released by Imp. In April, she will participate in the 92nd Street Y’s annual reading, The Tenth Muse.