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by Francine DuBois
here in the woods she can pretend that she's four--
the smell of the woods was faint in the wardrobe
in which she'd climb, kid-sized chair in hand.
when little, she'd sit for hours in the dark doing nothing.
just thinking. it would be years later that she'd imagine
that she'd be locked up in a tower if she didn't get the dishes done
by 9:00 pm (time for Twin Peaks) and already by then
she'd forgotten that the tower might just be the best place
on earth: secluded, quiet, calm, dark, and isolated--
far away from those who'd waste their shoes
in some sign of high school class solidarity.
Francine's Version -- Hezekiah's
Version -- Inspiration
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