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    Small Hearts

     

    by Laura Stott

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    A moon rises and children parade

    around the corner carrying

    colorful birds in their hands.

    ​

    They are so careful with their secrets.

    They want to be asked, What kind

    of blue is your bird?

    ​

    This is childhood: In each doorway

    they let one fly, exotic wings folding

    still on the steps, behind

    screen doors,

    ​

    or disappearing, a small point

    in a blank sky.

    Birds flutter through hallways,

    ​

    large white and iridescent

    green feathers. They land on linoleum

    kitchen floors, beside windows

    that look on old back yards.

    ​

    Door to door the children are gathering sweets

    and a little boy dashes across the grass,

    carrying something bright and orange,

    its tail waving behind him like a flag.

    ​

    One is given an apple,

    another a bit of cake.

    What kind of blue is your bird?

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