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Poetry | March 2013

Weaning: Hurricane

By Wendy Wisner

I dreamt that onions
appeared in my hands, the ones I’d forgotten
at the grocery store, and later,
when wind lashed against our window
waking only me,
I dreamt that you and I were walking
through the storm
and you took my hand as if to tell me
you did not need to nurse anymore.
The world at that moment–
glitter-blue, dark, oddly calm.
No words. Only wind and rain.

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