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Nests of Night Hens fight for remnants, peck down and up, bodies continue without their heads. It’s time for bed again. Lips turn horseshoe. He pulls la esposa close. Lime salt rust washboard grated hands: He leaves their bed again. To start with a fish, catch one. Slipped away! Empty hooks rake the river nooks snagging eggs in spawning rain. Kindling soaked, the oven cold. Children wrap themselves in cornhusk—throats open wide above their nests of night: Peel oranges. Feed us the little ones near the navel. Leaves lick the sap, branches lose bellies in the wind. A stillborn mouse in the shed. Apricots halve in the rain. |
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Issue #31, February, 2003 :
Santa Fe Poetry Broadside.