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Katie Coe

You are left grasping, gasping,

trying to capture the very thing that gives you life

but you can’t quite get it in one breath.

So you keep trying, keep using all the words you know,

and new ones too,

endlessly describing this thing.

But when you find the words,

the magic is over.

The toil is over.

Your lungs have been filled and they have released the air.

There is no longer a puzzle to be solved,

no conflict to be resolved,

and suddenly the world doesn’t revolve

around you.

Your problem is now tangible.

It has become simple and ordinary.


And the world expects you to move along,

but it cannot recreate the saliva on your tongue

that had quenched your thirst while you suffocated beautifully.

Fall, 2016 Issue

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