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After

Little girls
know a certain sort
of alone-ness –
empty blue-white
summer sky

a single plane

flying high, high, high
overhead

The thin plume
trails behind
widens and opens

like a single wing
lightly feathered
against the domed sky –

It is
the moment
remembered lifetimes later
as the small upward-turned mouth

whispers
they do not know
my name –

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