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Issue 62
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Editor's Note
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POETRY
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FICTION
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ESSAY
Issue > Poetry
Listening
I want the light to say something different,
the cold to be sweet between
my teeth, the slow escaping of breath
on my forehead, a fanned palm
on my knee, fingers splayed, open
branches. I want to bite down hard
on something that is tough, the hollow space between
my ribs to fill with lace, to fill
with gratitude, to fill in bird song.
I want to notice the shadows of the day,
how they bend and fold, how they dance across
an open space quietly,
quietly
until they are gone.