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 * 19 LAKE STREET **
 * Chase Twichell **

At last the maples throw off their soft red buds, and the neighbors emerge to scrape the lawns. New mothers wheel their offspring up and down over the curbs, absorbed by the awkwardness. And which of all the elements is the strangest? The little spirits struggling in their yellow blankets, the huge trees falling to pieces? The dismantled, oily parts of a machine laid out on rags like a metal picnic? A curtain shivers. Someone is watching the tulips enlarge in the gardens. They force their closed, still colorless flowers up out of the bare dirt.