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PAULETTE GUERIN BANE THE DREAM IN WHICH I SPEAK TO MAX RITVO I put my head on his shoulder, a person I never knew. I tell him I've read his poetry. We're in stadium box seats watching a game, maybe soccer, maybe life; but the rail stands in our line of sight. "It's okay we're dying," I say, as we lean toward one another for balance, not a better view. My husband is twelve hours away under machines and meeting with a team. I am learning to sit with uncertainty. I want to ask if it's comforting that the game will keep going after we leave, that we can't predict whatever's left behind will be so bright, the iridescent dragonfly's landing or the timid stray's flight. |