Author name: joanswift

Komarovo

And then we know. . . That if the dead by any chance returned We would not know them, that the cherished few With whom God chose to part us do not miss us. . . __________________________ —Anna Akhmatova The last time I saw all night on the horizon the red horse grazing I was …

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Steelhead

Because they flicker like stars of the twelfth magnitude and have come all the way from the Bering Sea through the Gulf of Alaska up the glacier-gray water of the Copper River and then curved their backs to the plunge of the Hanagita where they rest now, or have fallen half conscious into this small …

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Victim

Then the last being fell away from my face into the blindness of shadow. On my tongue words took the shapes of semen. I was bruised all over, but I opened my eyes one final time. There were the ferns. There was the oak tree dripping rain. I confused the shine near my throat, its …

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Paint

The raped woman with a paintbrush in her hand. She has forgotten for a moment what she is painting, the dripping color so like the breast feathers of a purple finch. She breathes the origins of the paint: vinyl polymer, quartz, silica from sand, the water of a river. Pushing the wet hairs flat against …

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