The Post, the Cage, the Palisade / Danielle Pieratti

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A girl's name was Heather. 

So, too, the unmoved grass 


around the swing set, the culvert

of small toads where she lay. 


How dare she dream in starfish.

How like the convent to keep


a rooster. True: what faces

south—what stalk, what shoulder.


The end: the rock in the hand

as she takes aim.  And she might do


equally well after all by hiking

or ironing.  A girl can save


time by pressing both

sides of her blouse at once.