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C.K. Dawson


The table is set.

There is a chair

in front of the ficus.

There is a man

in a sweater looking at a

girl in a dress.

We come to the altar.

The crowd wants

to dance with itself,

it is longing for the time

to be announced.

Love blooms like a rash

across our bodies and we

pause to examine the veins

of each red, insistent petal.

They keep still and vibrant

as inveterate stars.

For dinner there’s something

with garlic and on my way home

in the dark

on the highway

I can feel the flinch

between this world and the other.


C.K. Dawson has her MFA in poetry from Seattle Pacific University. Her work has appeared in Verily Magazine, Serving House Journal, Poetry International and Reflection Magazine.

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