Latest Writing
POETRY
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TWO POEMS by Megan Peak
—In your bed, I lie open to all the ways you have me: husked, sown, ruined. You hover above, right hand burgeoning like a mushroom, white, trembling. Outside the pine seeds slip from their cones, plummet toward the ground. After you strike, I don’t try
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THE SHATTER OF BIRDS by Javier Zamora
after Abuelita Javiercito, you’re leaving me tomorrow when our tortilla-and-milk breaths will whisper te amo. When I’ll pray the sun won’t devour your northbound steps. I’m giving you this conch swallowed with this delta’s waves and the sound of sand absorbing.
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TO MY POLISH AUNTS by Mary Kovaleski Byrnes
After Ginsberg Skin pale and pocked with moles, your names pulled from Slavic litanies, were strong enough for farm work, had the taste of whole milk: Bertha, Elsie, Hannah, in your kitchens, I sat on wooden chairs, one eye looking out for the coal-grayed cats
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