by FLB

you smell clean as salt
cheekbones of shell
your chest like the rocks
i lay on in the sun
when i was young
to banish the chill
your tongue a sea creature
darting and muscular

where is your shadow?
where is your poison?
where is your sting?



by LB

They are digging
a trench outside my window
on the windiest day of the century.
I sit in the rocking chair.
The red dirt lifts in the air,
chasing an imaginary magnet,
like iron filaments
stained by lava
by blood.

I watch the dirt drift,
so fine.
It comes in through the screen
to coat me,
my hair my eyelashes my lips.
I shield my daughter,
the porcelain face.

Let me break in half first.
Me first.


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