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The Sleeper
Lauri Burke
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Train pulls a rill through a downtrodden gale
burnishes midnight's black sail in sharp hindsight
far-tosses cinders that marry the rail
pushes and pushes lozenges of light.
I am the conductor, I hear my plea
called in places between cars, not still,
whispered to passengers dandling keys
rising with smut-smoke and steam over hill,
lying in stoneweight, bone down at the last
shadows sing stories, slide shade under pall,
memory's tickets are notched with the past.
Rising from horsehair I hear whistle call
sun pulling hard lamps the lamps out instead
sleeper has rattled her way out of bed. |
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Author's Note
Lauri Burke grew up in Muskegon, Michigan on the Lake Michigan shoreline. She has an undergraduate degree in Education and a Masters degree in Library Science. She has worked at the Barrington Public Library in Barrington, Rhode Island for thirty-one years. Lauri has designed and led numerous literary and humanities discussion series at the Library, and has taught poetry writing there for over twenty years. She lives in East Providence, Rhode Island with her family. "The Sleeper" is the second of her sonnets to appear in the Newport Review. She loves old-fashioned steam trains and grabs a ride on one whenever she has the opportunity. |
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