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After Hearing Karen Russell Talk About Swamplandia!
The dredge men came and we were bungalowed
In our silly pajamas. I wanted to wear scales and wings.
We heard the sucking sound, then the shoveling.
Gravel in the satchels. Sounded like birds at the peck.
Grown men out there, scraping and yelling.
I said to my sisters, “Will our house slip into that muck,
that hole they’re making? Will the trailer blow over?”
All the pickets were plastic and we didn’t really live
in a bungalow or any other life that could be shucked
and groomed for bungalows or ranches or colonials.
Some nights, after the men left and the canals darkened—
We took the flatboats out. Our nightgowns floated
Over the planks and the oarlocks shook while the water
Sank bit by bit. One morning, that was the end of it.
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