Sept/Oct 2021 • Vol. XLIII No. 5 PoetrySeptember 9, 2021 |

A Stone the Size of a Peach

Who has heard your voice in weeks But you? A robed figure, blue as night sea, Skirts the hillside, leaving behind The town square, the bell’s dominion, growing larger Into your stripped doorframe. By now you’ve rolled & lit your final cigarette. She lifts to you A stone in one palm, rough, A mollusk spire spun into the other. You hear the ocean locked In the stone. The shell crashes for you Only static. She studies your face For more than a moment. You sink Into her face of shadow, the small white glare On the lower curvature of one eye. You want her to speak, want to know Why she seems like a sister, Why her breathing matches yours exactly. You pull in breath like a wave receding Though she turns toward the square, Toward somewhere well beyond it, past land Bending to sea, out into the middle of it Where she stands. The warm wind slides Over you like water, possessing the pages You weighed with a stone the size of a peach. No matter your belief, your body Is a

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Of Exile

By Miriam Bird Greenberg

Who has heard your voice in weeks But you? A robed figure, blue as night sea, Skirts the hillside, leaving behind The town square, the bell’s dominion, growing larger Into […]

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