where the writers are
In the Beginning
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You call and offer me
June strawberries
with organic cream;
drive over with two dishes
balanced between your
knees. Steering, shifting,
you negotiate bridges,
freeways, traffic circles
to appear undeterred
by my front door.

Tilikum, Totem, Tristar— From blue glass bowls
we lift this moment
to our lips, deftly fix
the berries on our tongues;
we taste what is feral, what will keep,
re-shaping it later in our sleep.