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I gave up searching under a harvest moon,
prayers hang thick in the air.
-
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Among the balance of morning, I let go Africa unknots herself from my hair
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This is the last love.
I felt it in my bones, the softness of the sky
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Only love lay unborn beneath a dusty sky
Riding bareback through the waters of the river
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The Yellowjackets suhddered in their shells
milked dry as a skin, reborn like shins, spines
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Love, I am
a willow tree. under
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She is in her bed, white
like snowy cotton, these secrets
-
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As children,
we were parasites.
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Your arm is draped
across my ribcage.
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Heaven cracked, spilling water
into our cupped palms. we are begging.
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Maybe, it would have been best,
had we gone to church that night.
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November is sweet
I am almost thankful
-
Dusks are royal purple;
oxygen that feeds the fire.
-
whose heart pounds
so astoudingly, in my ear.
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The sky is swollen sapphire,
a midnight harmony, a paradise.
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Song birds rise
to wake us in the morning,
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Harmony is lost in the swelling of meaningless skies.
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The night has carved you into my skin.
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April air wraps herself around us. The day is warm, &
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Desire swells,
ripe in her shell,
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Dear, your breath is liquid magnolias. every white petal itches the skin;
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Standing in the doorway, whose grey-black hair
-
But for no reason at all. One o'clock in the morning
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There are, white blossoms in a vase of milk
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She rises in the east, early
morning sun.
-
A smiling woman cries
Bald head, pink gums
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I am all bone, tossed in spirit
the blue ends of my dress gather at my thighs
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I know no beginning,
no remembrance of August
-
The milkweed blooms
sunless, and the poppies are dead.
-
You are not.
The lovely(ness) I've lost
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Four poems on the Mirabal sisters from the novel by Julia Alvarez
-
-Remember-
I, a little girl
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