Silver Birch Press

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A CERTAIN SWIRL

Poem by Mary Ruefle

  The classroom was dark, all the desks were empty, 


and the sentence on the board was frightened to 


find itself alone. The sentence wanted someone to 


read it, the sentence thought it was a fine sentence, a 


noble, thorough sentence, perhaps a sentence of 


some importance, made of chalk dust, yes, but a sen-

tence that contained within itself a certain swirl

not 
unlike the nebulous heart of the unknown universe, 


but if no one read it, how could it be sure? Perhaps it 


was a dull sentence and that was why everyone had 


left the room and turned out the lights. Night came, 


and the moon with it. The sentence sat on the board

and shone. It was beautiful to look at, but no one 


read it.

“A Certain Swirl” is found…

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