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We get up before sunrise and treat our bodies like the confounding magic machines they are. We do the trick where what we put inside helps us rest and thrive, each key matches our lock, orange groves bloom cool and patient. Our lovers approach us like the edge of a lake. We do the trick of scrolling through news without a fresh and wild depression. We appreciate spicy food and silent movies.  At the party we forget if we are the hosts. This year we live in houses nibbled from a pink and candied dream. Some days we are gymnasts, next psychics. What I mean is our bodies move with purpose both physical and perceived, beam and mind. Welcome. We don’t know yet movement does not change the house. This year we enter a room and find a door so we enter the room and find a door.

Amanda Hartzell holds an MFA from Emerson College in Boston. Her work appears in New Letters, Petrichor Journal, The Knicknackery, Carve Magazine, and Cathexis Northwest Press among others. From eastern PA, she now lives in Seattle with her husband, son, and their dog.

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