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Laura Carter

I held many things in my palm & didn't want to release them. A small man once told
me that palms are divine. They don't leak. My palm curls into a wind-resistant tent. It
doesn't leak like prisons do. My palm curls into a locksmith's foil. It doesn't leak like
steadiness, like information. My palm curls. My palm curls tightly. My palm curls over &
over. It doesn't want to let go.

Laura Carter

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Author Discusses Poems