Arsenic Lobster poetry journal |
Issue Thirty-four Spring 2014 |
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Narwhals Abigail Bautista We have left our sepulture bedroom, hidden under eaves and over the sea as the equinox wanders slowly south. Now we are bound to our bodies as we are bound across cities. We are cruising across states, our minds drifting through the continents, all our windows painted shut against the first crack of hoarfrost. Still we mourn our longest days: how we drank whiskey and seawater, how we fed oysters to the cats, how we cracked open every claw to suck out the meat, how we promised we will never swim in the same ocean again. |
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