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I Build A Pagoda For My Small Gods

by



the sunflower goddess,
the lady of elderberry wine;

the gods of conjunctions,
shape-shifting, shutter speed;

the two-faced god of
writer's block and inspiration —

blind-folded both, a bunch
of rusty keys around their neck.

I build a pagoda and weave
spells into its walls, gently

sandpaper its eaves into scenes
from half-remembered dreams.

In the hexagonal room the gods
withdraw to penumbral niches.

There on my soft square pillow,
faded and dimpled twice,

I kneel and watch them
pray for me.

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About Michaela A. Gabriel


Michaela A. Gabriel lives in Vienna, Austria and spends a lot of her time helping adults to speak better English. She swears that this has nothing to do with getting a larger audience for her poetry. Occasionally she translates such thrilling publications as brochures about birdfeed or curricula for a local University of Applied Sciences. She does not drink coffee, energy drinks or beer, nor does she smoke, but she makes up for all that with a chocolate addiction.

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