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The Girls Who Run The World

Last night, in the middle of some other dream, I saw what lives behind the curtain—
that heavy velvet hung between awake and everything else,
back where dreams and soul, subconscious, spirit run the show.
It was Not What I Expected. I expected gears and pulleys, or
spreadsheets and projections, or possibly clouds.
Instead, two girls gossip at an outdoor cafe,
heads bent together, posture telling everything about
their delight in the world, each other, the unfolding all around them.
Cindy & Suzie are the names embroidered
in pink on matching bowling shirts.
They could be twins—short black curls,
heavy blue eyeshadow, bright red lipstick,
girls fixed up like the Andrews Sisters, ready for the USO show.
They don’t expect me, of course, back here where
we aren’t supposed to be able to peek.
One glance and we all know I’m in the wrong place,
me with my million questions about dreams and our futures and
why, oh a mountain of questions about why, so insistent and distraught.
They both smile, big surprised grins that say—
This is SO against the rules, but we’re happy to see you.
Pull up a chair. Let’s see What Happens Next and Oh,
this part is going to be fun.

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