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<!--Generated by Squarespace V5 Site Server v5.13.156 (http://www.squarespace.com) on Mon, 20 May 2013 16:32:47 GMT--><feed xmlns="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" xmlns:dc="http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/"><title>Sue Lozynskyj's Portfolio</title><subtitle>Sue Lozynskyj's Portfolio</subtitle><id>http://www.afterliterature.org/sue-lozynskyj/</id><link rel="alternate" type="application/xhtml+xml" href="http://www.afterliterature.org/sue-lozynskyj/"/><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.afterliterature.org/sue-lozynskyj/atom.xml"/><updated>2011-05-25T10:49:14Z</updated><generator uri="http://five.squarespace.com/" version="Squarespace V5 Site Server v5.13.156 (http://www.squarespace.com)">Squarespace</generator><entry><title>One Solution</title><id>http://www.afterliterature.org/sue-lozynskyj/2011/5/25/one-solution.html</id><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://www.afterliterature.org/sue-lozynskyj/2011/5/25/one-solution.html"/><author><name>Sue Lozynskyj</name></author><published>2011-05-25T10:47:22Z</published><updated>2011-05-25T10:47:22Z</updated><content type="html" xml:lang="en-CA"><![CDATA[<p>&nbsp;</p>
<p>I&nbsp;trap rapists alive<br />in&nbsp;my candyfloss skirt<br />set across&nbsp;the alley.<br /><br />Once his eyes&nbsp;are opened<br />and terror extracted<br />I&nbsp;make him simmer it in&nbsp;jelly<br />through&nbsp;ten sleeps.&nbsp;</p>
<p>When he's ready&nbsp;<br />I hold him in&nbsp;the dyebath<br />then leave him<br />to dry on a&nbsp;blackthorn pillow.</p>
<p><br />My&nbsp;arms are stained purple<br />as a victim's mouth.</p>
<p>&nbsp;</p>]]></content></entry><entry><title>How To Get A Warm Wash For Twenty Girls When You’re Twelve. - by Sue Lozynskyj</title><category term="edselection"/><category term="thrucrit"/><id>http://www.afterliterature.org/sue-lozynskyj/2009/9/19/how-to-get-a-warm-wash-for-twenty-girls-when-youre-twelve-by.html</id><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://www.afterliterature.org/sue-lozynskyj/2009/9/19/how-to-get-a-warm-wash-for-twenty-girls-when-youre-twelve-by.html"/><author><name>Sue Lozynskyj</name></author><published>2009-09-19T16:48:00Z</published><updated>2009-09-19T16:48:00Z</updated><content type="html" xml:lang="en-CA"><![CDATA[<p>(For Mavis Wood who showed me)</p>
<p>An oil drum.<br />No, not that big<br />not as big as Old Rusty<br />which you left home on<br />walking backwards to join the circus<br />rumbling so loud, women came out to their gates<br />hoping for tanks.</p>
<p>This oil drum is half that size.<br />It&rsquo;s rusty outside, and inside<br />the walls are smooth with soot.<br />There&rsquo;s no lid<br />and in the other end a hole<br />the size of a girl&rsquo;s clenched fist.<br />Stand it on four bricks<br />and block the hole with a wooden stake<br />at least as tall as your drum.<br />Fill the drum with sawdust<br />climb in and cram it down with bare feet<br />pack more in, until your feet are black<br />and you reek of sap and smoke.</p>
<p>Lift the stake out gently<br />to leave a shaft through the sawdust.<br />Balance a four-gallon pan on top<br />light the smallest of fires under the drum<br />listen to it twist up through the sawdust<br />till the drum's burned clear<br />then dole out warm water<br />to the girls and the guiders.</p>
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