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      April 3, 2015Godfather DeathRebecca Lehmann

      All these different planet-options exist
      in the spackled, unpacked universe.
      You want to be reading Frank O’Hara.
      Boom, you are, to a room full
      of nursing students. None of them
      has been in a car accident today.
      Now that’s in medias res, like “Godfather
      Death,” the Grimm Brothers’ tale
      that you know is going to end poorly
      because it’s called “Godfather Death.”
      Death is a patient godfather, waiting
      for us all to come in the side door.
      Love waits in the same white room,
      where anything could happen.
      The walls could just turn purple.
      Where is the lilac bush?
      Where is the polished mahogany buffet?
      Where is the next cautionary tale,
      set in the center of a dark woods?
      Children, don’t go out there. A monster
      is guarding a pile of human hands.

      from #46 - winter 2014

      Rebecca Lehmann

      “I started writing poetry in high school, after falling in love with Emily Dickinson’s verse. Now, many years later (more than I care to admit), poetry is still the only way I can imagine to process all of life’s beauty, brutality, joy, sorrow, coincidence and absurdity.”