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A poem by Heidi Hutner 

Long Island Sound

The same swans waiting
Year after year, tall, long black beaked
We are still walking
Each time the sky is different
Orange, ridged in black
My arms floating
He prances up through the grass
Steps back in that moment
Criss-crossing the sand
He looks for me

You said she lay in your arms
Wind flowing through the promise of
Beautiful white breasts
Your hand across her small oval stone
Slices of blue on light
That crease and cause the fusion

Then, it all passes

Vanishing into the future of pregnancy and birth

Others, tossing their sex into each other’s nets
Year after year, successfully loving
Successfully married couples, coupling

While the feeble fail
Skimming small waves
Licking the edge of sand
Licking the broken oar
A dark cloud rises

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  • "Long Island Sound" by Heidi Hutner


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