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Brood


My chest is earth

I meant to write my chest is warm
but earth will do
                              to exhume a heart

     Beat

I meant to write
breathe

                     Did you know I was alive the whole time

I was alive in the ground but torpor

          But torpor

Slowed beat

My chest filled like a jar with dirt

I mean
     dearth

For slow months at rest in the hole
I'd made in myself
            A frozen ground
     A ground in thaw

I mean
             Spring is coming
I mean
             I push the wet dirt with my mandible
I mean  jaw

       Jaw

             Y'all

I know I am not a nymph in exhumation

   but would you please explain
         this half-remembered light


Donika Kelly

The Sewanee Review

Fall 2017


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