In the Cellar
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Some stories are not told but stored in airtight vessels with time and other solvents. On odd days I descend, adjust the failing lamp, and agitate the specimens, each sealed in a dim pool. They swirl on dusky currents, feed on the dark, and ripen. One day they appear translucent. How quickly I've outlived them! Will I someday grow old enough to speak of them? Meanwhile I dust the glass and again revise the labels. by Claudia Gary |