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July 2016, vol 12 no 2

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Kathe L. Palka


It’s not moving, but still warm. Another pet lost to indifferent road traffic. The small kitten easily fits into the shoebox my cousins have for it. As they put the lid back on I see fleas crawling out of its fur. This I’ll remember. I don’t know yet that I’ll forget the kitten’s name. Forget ever seeing it alive.

summer burial
we say the prayer we know
now I lay me down . . .