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Here's a girl from a dangerous town She crops her dark hair short so that less of her has to frown when someone gets hurt.
She folds her memories like a parachute. Dropped, she collects the peat and cooks her veggies at home: they shoot here where they eat.
Ah, there's more sky in these parts than, say, ground. Hence her voice's pitch, and her stare stains your retina like a gray bulb when you switch
hemispheres, and her knee-length quilt skirt's cut to catch the squall, I dream of her either loved or killed because the town's too small.
Joseph Brodsky
Read poems about / on: girl, hair, dream, home, dark, sky, memory
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