Spring 2016

Edited by Barry Kitterman | Andrea Spofford | Amy Wright



​Poetry

Magnetic Declination

(unidentified woman discovered October 7, 1998 in Weatherford, Texas)
​​

​Aimee Baker


The migration of birds
is elemental. Pieces of magnetite
lodged against vessels.

And, as rain hauls
across the sky, the red tower lights
draw them until it is bone
against metal.

Before my skin
was stitched closed, my body
had wings. Now, there is nothing
magnetic to pull

my fingers across
the humid ground.
Loose strands of thread collapsed
against ribs.

My lips and lungs
no longer believe in dawn or feast.
and I navigate my body
across grass, the prick
of needle

through fold of arm,
and as birds fall in death, I find fire,
their feathers a pulse
against cracked skin.

 




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