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Syndic Literary Journal



Britta Kollberg

When the king opened the door—golden

her hair, her fingertips, and the heaps of

fear spun to hard sticks shimmering with relief

the straw still pricking inside her morning bread,

in the kohl on her eyelid,

her reclining chair,

in the baby’s toes inside her belly,

in the gilded ring finger on

her hand,

in all her futility and father’s name





Compiled/Published by LeRoy Chatfield
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