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Margie Cronin

Anna and the Green Jug

Any girl could seal his poems
with her lips; he would call a poem about her 'Anna
and the Green Jug' -
it's all in the motion, the flux:
her skin passed before him fluty-toned, coming out
and calling inertia to follow -
one and long,
water fell into her throat like a specially skilled diver
while nervously he poured
and swallowed the lyric.

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