Blackbirdan online journal of literature and the artsFall 2020  Vol. 19 No. 2
an online journal of literature and the arts
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Canto Selah
for & after Karen An-hwei Lee

There is no identical
of silence, night’s plane
edge pressed against
the upper
lip. You dress yourself
deep in the loss
of the moment, aspiring
to smelt
a cage from a star.
The grass is praying
in the capital
of grasses, which is lit
at both ends
like a city on fire.
It does not know tides.
It buries its face
in the shadow
of justice’s flat well.
I warm my hands there
when the mirror
repeats its only curse,
which is
Son. Son. Son. Son.  

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