by Claire Dixon

When I think nothing
will bring back the green
rush of spring in my chest,
I think of the African thumb
pianos in the French Market,
little note cool and full
as a drop of water, peeling slow
down the back of my neck, and if

that note were the last drop
of water I’d ever taste, and therefore
not enough to save me,

I would stick out my tongue,
I would drink it all the same.

Claire Dixon was born in England, raised in Canada, and has lived happily in Baton Rouge, Louisiana, since 2004. She received an MFA in poetry from Louisiana State University in 2007 and is currently working towards her Master’s of Library and Information Science. “Kalimba” and “The Magic Words” are part of a manuscript-in-progress called The Secret of Everything.