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Dispatch #008

Quarantine Poem 50  |

By: Kim Shuck

 

I have hidden my bones
My ancestor’s bones
Stitched into sweaters
Into
Clothes that will be worn or not
Pulled around us in a chill
Pulled around us
Eyes closed
Fingers catch on
A facet
Our bones are beads
Strung with nerves
I am strung with nerves
Nerves thread through this house too
The door an articulation the
Windows
The keyholes

Categories: Uncategorized

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