the action of memory
on the grid side of the calendar
mary drew a square, executed precise folds,
made little clips with her scissors
and when the tiny box was done
the sun from the photo side
squeezed nicely into the top-left corner
why it was not in the center, pulsing
she did not know
she sucked the paper-cut on her thumb
her teeth pressed into the edges to numb the ache
and it seemed to her that nothing was more obvious
than the rain but for some reason the sky was blue
all that she kept in the box
was a handful of dried buffalo grass
and an empty chrysalis she found
on their walk last Sunday
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