Author: Beth Maiden

i'm here. i have not moved yet. i am afraid to.

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once more with feeling:

[bellowing] you do not have to be good

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the landing

branta came that night. paddled right up beside her in a tree-trunk canoe, offering a name.

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the boat

on windy days the sea-wives would be busy with the boats, endlessly working ropes and sails. the woman learned to be useful.

on the calmer days they would rest.

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the port

the woman brushed the wet sand from her dress. the pair walked on in silence

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i dreamed my name

i dreamed my mother

i dreamed i was a rotting log

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