Arsenic Lobster poetry journal Issue Forty-three
April 2017
 
In February 2015
Sarah Blake

in a cemetery
the Jewish gravestones   pushed
toppled   overturned   uprooted
defaced
as many as 250

I think   if one of those graves
were mine   my ghost   would try
to recall   crying
the hunched spine   the body
heaving

I think   of the teens’ determination
each time a grave   destroyed
a moment to reaffirm
yes   another   tiring
under the physical work of it

my ghost would   stretch   itself
so thin   crying
thinking it remembered
crying   stretched   and belly down
against the grass and stones

as many stones as it could touch
like a shroud   a way to grieve
as good as any
spread out   until the sea
and then   over it

spread out   until the first
living person   then over
the mouth
of that living   person
right over the mouth

About Sarah Blake

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