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October 2013, vol 9, no 3

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Harriot West

The Changeling

Mother had a fondness for a certain TV cop. He drank his coffee black. Facts ma'am just the facts he'd say as ice cubes dulled the amber of her scotch. On cold nights when she refused to light the furnace, his image flickered on the screen, blocking thoughts about a child who conjured castles out of clouds and fairies out of starlight.

behind the cloud
behind the curtain
the moon's thin curve