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Paper Boats
Swaths of time pass in the shower
with the hot water raining on my wrists.
This year I keep using up thoughts on very small things:
a soft fold, tissue-thin skin, a wiry strand of hair.
Although today there was quick pride at my reflection in the store window.
Finally! This is who I always felt I was!
I have held a petal-thin champagne flute high above my head for years.
A toast! A toast! A toast!
Tomorrow this poem will be tucked with me all day,
buoying me up, a little life-raft in my handbag.
I have always been delighted that a paper boat will float.
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