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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.