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10.18.11
The Hinge Trees






They were unknown hinges.   And



you thought


you could speak in them. Absurd that a dead tree



could speak in poetics. Dead trees.


So you needed a human to come and say the words for you. In increments


the way a child stumbles through a script written in an adult’s


hand. The way



the hinges were sockets, but possibly


not joints, possibly not articulated.












Elizabeth Robinson’s books include Blue Heron and On Ghosts. She lives in Boulder, Colorado, and works at a day shelter for homeless people and the working poor.