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An original poem by Kathryn Cody
Over Bronte
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After coffee and over Bronte,
I built my own Sargasso attic.
Like three incantatious sisters,
their words wound us together,
a stunning, careless braiding.
And with no nurse to guard me,
I burned my bridges in your bed
nudging aside all restraint for just
that day, that summer
when Bertha awoke in the late morning air,
in your house, when She wasn’t home.
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