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								|   Such finessemust come from long practice.
 Is it applause you want?
 I want more than hate,
 more than a gnarled
 grudge like a dead stump
 rooted in my chest.
 
 I want my own woods,
 the scurry of the unseen,
 the eyes of deer.
 I want stillness enough to hear
 my own heart working, and that moment
 each ochre, each crimson leaf
 is torn from its hold.
 
 
 © by Andrea Potos.
 Used with the author's permission.
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 Andrea Potos, who writes in longhand, is a longtime independent bookseller and the author of numerous books; her latest is Her Joy Becomes, from Fernwood Press. Andrea loves reading, travel, cafes, and walking beside lakes and on green trails—“of which there are many,” she says, in Madison, Wisconsin, where she lives. Andrea’s Greek grandparents and their spirit have been an abiding presence and inspiration throughout her life and poetry. .jpg)            
       
 
																	
							
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