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How It Feels Alice Stori

 
Twisted. A sweater wrung
          in a towel to dry. Gnarled.
A tree stump where leprechauns
          might hide in a pot of gold. Contorted
          around its center like a Chinese acrobat.
Convoluted, wound up, bent: my tongue
          when speaking from my heart

Copyright © 1999 by Alice Stori
Reprinted by permission of the author

 
 


Back to Poetry in Motion® ~ Poem list for 1999