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My Daughter

tells me to throw away
old pillows. These bags
of down have held my head,
my children's heads
for years. I've sunk
into their softness—
the inner feathers
of some poor goose— 
dreamt high, improbable
adventures, odd scenarios
none so far come true.

My daughter declares
that harmful microbes live
in pillows, aggravating allergies.
These old friends must go—
along with other forms
of solace that are bad for us.

Joyce S. Brown


Issue 55 - 2013

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