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Dear __________pling,


All year long winter threatens the eggs. For the heatless
bird I’m drawn to I fatten up against the wind. As the
bus halts, a stranger says, If I don’t see you tomorrow,
that’s because I’ve jumped off a bridge. I don’t need that
kind of burden, the man I loved once said. Then I do see
him tomorrow. And the stranger tomorrow too.







Dear __________ending,


Though he prefers the lake’s postcard to the sea’s
triptych, he steers the boat into the wave. Acknowledge
me, he asks as he loosens the ropes. You brace yourself
against the oncoming. But today the sea glistens like the
fish you used to scale. The boat slices and bucks, your
stomach compressing. You remember the horrible bed
holding you both, how in it you lied for days.





Esther Lee is the author of Spit, a poetry collection selected for the Elixir Press Poetry Prize (2011) and her chapbook, Blank Missives (Trafficker Press, 2007). She teaches as an Assistant Professor of English and Creative Writing at Agnes Scott College. She lives in Atlanta with her husband and is currently working on her second book.

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