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Elizabeth Knapp


I Hushed Her Then


Night gashed and the silence twinned. All around her, islands. Not the metaphoric kind. Like the river that knows it's only river, not an event, not something to be seized upon or passed through, crushed light weeping at its edge and afternote of spruce held over like a loose hinge in the air. Something to wade her life into. Like a pond, ladled in shadow. The slow unbending moat of sound.