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My Grandfather's Level


My grandfather’s level
Tells me we live
In a crooked world.
I set it on the kitchen table
And the bubble bobs
To one end of its glass tube.
I set it on the windowsill
And it floats to the other
Like someone in the throes
Of a hard decision. I hold it
Up to the horizon: not even
The prairie is flat these days.
Finally, I balance it on my palm
Until the bubble is centered
Between the hashmarks.
Through this old tool
My grandfather is telling me that
The straightening-out
Of this crooked world
Is in our hands.
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