Clay figures

by Kyla-Yến Huỳnh Giffin

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The snow falls, but it doesn’t land.

The roads scream when I drive over them.

Birds waltz over power lines and take dust baths in the ground-up concrete.

I grow a plant indoors that knows nothing of how much of the earth is no longer alive.

This world so rarely makes sense.

Surely we’re all just pretending to understand it?

Surely we’re all just acting as if we’ve got it under control?

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