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Ploughshares, the literary journal |
 | | Camel drew in the wool smell and the smell of geraniums and the smell of the river. |
 | | Camel stares through the canvas end of an unfinished greenhouse and watches his father lift a long-stemmed red rose and hold it up in the air, wave it at his audience of flowers, then stick the bloom into his dark mouth, extinguishing the flame without a word, eating fire in secret. |
 | | Camel looks down at his own arm, the two creases inside his elbow, smooth, pale skin inside his forearm, a curved ridge where a vein runs just beneath his skin, the freckles, the hair and how it's bent like grass in a breeze. |
| www.pshares.org /issues/article.cfm?prmarticleID=1534 (1325 words) |
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