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Contributor Notes




Lisa M. Cole

Lisa M. Cole




 

 

 

After Emptiness

 

Because I will never have a daughter

& my heart is a rusting copper maze

I fold & falter. I only play a one-handed song.

The echoed horses tell me lies &

my ribs are wishbones. 

I am a half-time widow.

 

The fates are confusing

in their signs &

the dead bring no news

for weeks. You say, “You look like

an artist right now.” Grace

says nothing.

 

 

**

 

37

 

I have my guises//my crushed porcelain masks//I know no other way//my heart in a bag over my shoulder//this strange money//this hell money//this danger money//money can’t buy me love//money can’t buy me anything at all

 

**

 

38

 

by the curve of the cat’s ear//we laser, hide & haze//we ask if birds have ghosts—what they must do to earn them//& I wonder: //when should a thing not be mended?

 

**

 

39

 

when all of God’s prophecies//are wrong; when he needs his own oracle—//the dead will bring gifts://spells & concubines;//rooms full with switchblade lovers//this yellow morning, //I am full//with too much June