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Poetry #468
(published January 7, 2010)
Summer School
by Sarah Erdreich
My friends would laugh
when I said I learned how to swear
from my mother.
Words falling like new coins,
glittering and hard,
as she navigated the brown station wagon
around and around the parking garage
searching furiously for a place.
My sister and I looking nervously at each other
stomach churning
endless circles
mint smell of gum
high-pitched curses.

In memory those instances
spread out over months and years
pool to form one endless summer morning
when I learned how to swear.

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