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Shannon Baldwin

The Fourth of July It wasn’t the fireworks that scared her, but the moment right before. Before match met fuse and fuse burned then blazed into a million shrieking lights, blinding whites and cobalt blues. The moment before. Standing barefoot on asphalt so black it was like she was standing on darkness---melting into darkness. Her black-bottomed feet winced as I struck the match. The pop and hiss. Then, for a moment, Silence.

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Connective Tissue 2013 | Volume 6