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Poetry | November 2006

she would rather change her bones

By Anna Evans

she’s five and we are trying to change her
into new clothes a big problem for her right now
everything feels itchy but we’re working on it
anyway she says something so smart and funny
almost metaphorical that it’s hard to know
whether to write it down or hug her I squeeze
my arms around her pretending it’s freezing
and she has no coat I breathe in her smell
like a cottontail buried in a nest because she’s frightened
of water and we only bathe her once a week
we are fighting bigger battles I nuzzle her cheek
soft as the belly of a kitten I tell her I love her she says
mom I only like those tights from gap

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