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 Love can feel like Moving Day every day, groaning along temples,
lumbar, triceps, like a chifforobe hauled up a back staircase,
cumbersome, burning my finger-crooks.
 You are the other kind of heavy, like a geode in the palm, like a kedge
or an ice axe, weight like a landing plane, like a head in the lap, like
light split by the oak tree into a geometric heft. 

CAROLINE PITTMAN is a mother of four living in Atlanta, Georgia. She has work forthcoming in Crab Orchard Review.
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Title Annotation:two poems
Author:Pittman, Caroline
Publication:The American Poetry Review
Article Type:Poem
Date:Jan 1, 2014
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