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Greer holds the chicken
Greer holds the chicken like an old handbag while marching across the yard. The axe swooshes mid-execution, feathers finally floating up.
Read moreI find, in the dirt by the plot
I find, in the dirt by the plot of potatoes, an egg hastily painted pink & blue. I’d buttoned your coat then, a wet kiss on your forehead.
Read moreIn the evening beauty appears
In the evening beauty appears dreary, moving lovesick into the care of dreaming. Sunrise pushes aside the fog.
Read moreIt was under that tree.
It was under that tree. And so they dug— the damp dirt making devilish half moons of their fingernails— to find it; youth, a tin of scraps.
Read moreYou say, I would've then.
You say, I would’ve then. At the lunch counter or behind the hose? In a Selma jail or hooded veil? My dear superhero, for whom 100 blows?
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