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15 Sighting not using our inside voices barefoot & hefting matching backpacks down the school bus steps to the intersection at the edge of our farm grass a crinkly beige & sky split ozone-blue forgotten apple smushed under my lunchbox leaks a dribble of sickly liquid body temperature rivulet down the back of my shorts feet stickening with the squelch of tar bubbled on the main road inland scenic route chip seal that gets molten every twenty-degree day then ripped up in chunks by passing milk tankers gouging out the infrastructure of each summer to winter us later in potholes that frost over as stomped ice mornings crack & splash in our good school shoes until the bus comes but for now it’s freckling season sun-drenched & primal we pick

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