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Manna

And what might it taste like? Think

clotted oxygen. Permanent snow. So

many spongy stones, each

containing at its center

the last earthly word of a ghost.

Think of the flesh on an angel’s hips, pinched

into morsels. Candied soap. Small

lozenges of condensed foam.

Six seconds of bliss, rolled

in powdered sugar, deepfried,

rolled again in the white

blood cells of a child,

then left in the shade to multiply.

Yes.

Solid fluff.

Weighted hopes.

Pale

lumps of fresh

heaven, like

some type of old-fashioned candy

your grandmother always remembered

from childhood, and then

searched for all her life,

never found again, but never

ceased to desire: You

find one of those in your pocket

a few days after she dies.

from Lilies WithoutFind it in the library

Copyright © 2007 Laura Kasischke
Used with the permission of The Permissions Company, Inc.
on behalf of Copper Canyon Press.

Published in Laura Kasischke Poems

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