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Sarah Shapiro: a poem

A Sweating Vision

September arrives late for class sweaty, her fresh

face caked with beginnings and sunflower pollen.

She wears knockout, blue sky, summer dresses,

each dress minorly more autumn as she ages by degrees.

Moving too fast, too slow, you miss her;

realising she's gone before you're done woolgathering for her sweater.

Charles, for his part, is resplendent: he glows with drunken

smiles in ripples of sapphire, cobalt and ultramarine.

He basks under rowboats and sailboats, pleasure

cruisers and tugs, not concerned with the continuing swelter

when his banks are trimmed and cleared and carefully

attended. The sun starts the descent toward those

lonely nine-hour days which temper the wilt and

burn. I'm not sure if September and Charles ever

notice one another, so focused are they on their own recitals.

Sarah Shapiro’s chapbooks the bullshit cosmos (ignitionpress 2019) and being called normal (tall-lighthouse press 2021) work to bridge the gap between those who struggle to read and those who read with ease. You can find her on Twitter here: @shapi20s and on her website here:

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