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Majestic
Perhaps Louis Pasteur never looked from his petri dish with planets in his eyes. Perhaps he had no idea, that mold in a jar the cure at just the right time for the illness. So how can I stop lifting up rocks in the garden, mealybugs curled up snug in their beds of earth? There are so many homes, there for the taking, for the necessary things like coffee in the morning, dinner on the couch at night. Now I am thinking about the dustmites I am sure live under our bed, as we curl up together night after night, always me in the crook of your arm, your hand around my waist. I am wishing now they have what I have, that all small things understand why they are majestic. ©Alicia Hoffman |
| High School English teacher and Pushcart Prize nominee Alicia Hoffman holds an MA in Poetry from the State University of New York at Brockport. A broadside of her work has recently been published by Rochester New York's local "inkpublications." |