Monday, April 30, 2007


The eight people stand in a box. One opens her mouth, then closes it. Another opens her mouth, then closes it. When the last is done singing, they smile to each other. The box is plain and white, a room, really; these are a singing group. They smile to each other and then open the door. The sun is hot and yellow and the grass thick, the dandelions butter-colored. The eight of them leave the room into the day. Each has a secret—hot and bright—that is the secret of the singing.

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