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      December 25, 2018RepairNina Lindsay

      The rain showers won’t stop returning,
      as if someone needs to make a decision.
      Haggard doves and delivery vans
      prowl around morning’s scene
      of general disaster. At the café
      we don’t really pay attention,
      we are reading the East Bay Living section,
      the comics, the reviews, the April travel
      ads. Every now and then
      one person looks up,
      and down. We all think
      we are in the same lifeboat. And we don’t
      delude ourselves lightly—
      we go about it with the same care you take
      with newborns, with pastries,
      with the Christmas present you unwrapped
      once, in the middle of the night, underneath the tree,
      knowing too much to sleep,
      a longer distance ahead,
      love oddly steadier for the disappointment,
      and hope only slightly blemished.

      from #25 - Summer 2006

      Nina Lindsay

      “Working as a children’s librarian in Oakland, California, I find poetry mostly on lunch hours, public transportation, or in the bleary early morning hours at my local cafe, on Post-its and the back of receipts.”