Blackbirdan online journal of literature and the artsSpring 2019  Vol. 18 No. 1
an online journal of literature and the arts
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Zero, 2018

Keep saying what you saw and before you are sore
I will sing, and before I am parched, another.
Sing cero, cero, cero.

The round of our voices might roll back
our thoughts, might recollect the scattered photos,
the children’s cries, that hot summer within
the border’s belly—
no clocks
barely shadows
to tell the time

and the backs of people on long, narrow benches,

the way it grew crowded

and transformed from cement floors

and crinkled, silver blankets

into many, distant rooms.

Cero for the mourning O of outrage,
for the empty shell drawn first to signify an accounted nothingness,
for the meaningless words and hurried signatures
on bright white pages.  

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