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Volume 12.2

Keith Woodruff

Live Bait

For sun fish, black and yellow tent worms  
I broomed down   
from heart-shaped catalpa leaves.   
For bass, nightcrawlers plucked   
from grass after rain and leopard frogs   
drumming against a coffee can lid.   
My alphabet of bait. I forget   
the lakes and ponds. Remember only   
the frog now. Piercing a hook up   
through the white petal of its throat,   
and out the beak-nose with a quick   
stitching motion. Croaks rising   
to high-pitched chirps, small toes   
pushing against my grip. I only caught  
that sound: the sharp pop, hook   
breaking skin, air whistling out.  
How many times can one frog die?   
O, tiny gold-eyed hell, I see you.

Bio Copy here

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