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If we are not born again
If we never have babies
If the road from Philadelphia ends in nowhere
Then more nowhere
If the green trees, chutney, and glittering highways
Darken us down to another
If we are starlets, spinning
Or air sipped from a balloon
If sweetly, June burns
All our bushes charred and black
This earth, our only
This four-cornered honeycomb
Flooded with nectar and tombed
Foolishly, as bees drown
Tipsy on the sweetness of our little apocalypse
She spoke the Lord’s words without looking
Sound of sandpaper and butter over heat
Sound of butterflies landing
Sound of sweet pea and peony



Sarah Beth Spraggins is a recent graduate of Wheaton College and an MFA candidate at Columbia.




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