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Rose Jam

With knees foam-sheathed she pins the brown soil unwilling body of earth until sundown it’s hers the grandmother, mother, widow whisperer to the world beneath her, families of spiders scurry and ants

A Bird, a Boyfriend

in featherless flight you left a brood of windows blind to beg for faces as lubricious surfaces do in glassy grief they squeeze my room made brick balloon & without a bribe I feel a burst might come s

© Brad Cohen 2020