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The Bucket by Alice Teeter



Your mother lives above you on the mountain, around the

whole hillside once and many switchbacks away.

You haven’t seen your mother for years although your

children used to go visit when they were little.

Your youngest girl, the theoretical mathematician, is

the one who figured out the angles and the lengths

and what exactly it would take for your mother

to be able to drop a bucket down the slope

and knock it against your front door.

It was all right when your littlest girl was there to read

the notes and do her bidding, but once the kids

had all left for school or their lives off this mountain

you were left alone with the thump, thump, thump on your door

once or twice a day – always something –

A pinch of salt, the newspaper.






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