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By Darcy Clark

Today is one of those days where I wish I were a cello.
With that deep velvet bass sound
that rolls over hills and climbs up mountains

All it would take to spill my secrets
the deepest, darkest ones
tucked behind the bridge and under the strings
is just a slight tug of a hand.

And I would weep
fat tears that would slip and slide down mahogany
as smooth blue-green glass oceans
and give all my secrets away.