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Saturday Morning
by Marianne Szlyk

Girls with yoga mats walk in the rain
through a dream of green
beside sycamore trees
beneath linden trees.

They talk through the rain,
their hair as smooth as shadows,
their flip-flops slapping
through puddles.

The rain falls like pin-pricks
on their bare arms,
against their tank tops.
Mimosa blossoms
stick in their hair.

Soon they will be
inside. They will
salute the sun
that will not show
its face today.

 

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