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We began with physical feats, the splits
for one, while another touched her nose
with her tongue - nothing extraordinary.
But now the girl who professed no such skill
mumbled something about love, and we edged
closer as she declared more distinctly,
"Once I cherished a man who lynched a man,
though I never did learn to forgive him."
Everyone had succeeded in some feat
of love and long harbored a secret pride.
Wine bottles emptied, hands sweat, knees trembled.
Everyone has a size-of-my-fish tale:
these were halibut off Alaska's coast.
Imagine the gain: every wart sloughed off;
our wrinkles smoothed while scars evanesced.
We felt sure to be loved, both damned and blessed.
From Staple No 60 (Summer 2004)