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they’re rearranging the vacant lot
yellow machinery scrapes and mounds the mud
see, this clay was once clumped under the kudzu vines
they slice through the trees, lay the trunks aside
then rip up roots and stumps from the earth
sharp smell of sap
over here, stacked, discarded trees
look, this one was rotten in the middle
look, count the years through which it grew
in the evening a child comes with a plastic dump truck
tiny in the tire track of the bulldozer
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Ellen Baileybrown is a poet who also enjoys photography, gardening, and knitting. She
lives in Vermont with another poet, three cats, and a little black dog.
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