Author: Kathleen Culver
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Totem
On the black bull with curved horns a pudgy little man sits cross-legged Control of passions, my father said. A girl and boy take turns somersaulting over bulls, placing hands on the back flipping between the horns. Playing with danger, my mom said. Another voice calls, Come here, says Selene, the bull-horned moon…
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Saucerie Sonnet
“No,” you stopped me. “Don’t wash the pan. Pour off the grease all but a loving spoonful, scrape the grizzly scraps loose, add herbs, a little wine or coconut milk, you’ll have a sauce, the remains will sing like a choir. “Don’t toss everything away, just the ballast, the dead stuff. Select notes will…