Summer 2003 • Vol. XXV No. 3/4 PoetryJuly 1, 2003 |

More Facts

1. She lay clean as the clear sky after the snowfall. Fresh. White. Snow-drifted. Curves rounded, outlined. Each leg with its light weight. Eyelashes glistening crystals. And the hollows, lovely lavenders and pinks of ears and nose. The udder a solid shape, the hard bottom of her belly cold and when I remember the bloody gush, frozen, from out her ass, I recall standing under a blue sky. 2. They tore first into the bag and the soft sides of the ass. They ate her ears. And her face wore its stupid content. 3. They opened the carcass below the ribs. I saw a dog with her heart. 4. Bulging from a bowl-shaped hole in her hide, her calf's white ink-blotched fur. Two days they left what blossomed there alone, as if baffled by its pure presence. 5. And then nothing but a pearly cloven hoof at the end of a segment of leg, almost buried in the grass a distance from the cow. A tiny hoof I touched with a finger. The joint above it was bent— The limb had brok

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Borderlands

By Suji Kwock Kim

1. She lay clean as the clear sky after the snowfall. Fresh. White. Snow-drifted. Curves rounded, outlined. Each leg with its light weight. Eyelashes glistening crystals. And the hollows, lovely […]

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