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Contents Page: December 31, 2010, vol 6 no 4

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Hortensia Anderson



As I sit in the boat, there's a tug on the fishing line. I reel in the trout, gently wresting the barbed hook from its mouth.

I pitch it to a bird circling nearby. With a swoop, he catches it in his beak, then flies into the distant clouds taking his shadow.

a gull cries –
echoes of childhood
follow me home

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