Eugene Elira
Recollection
it takes years to learn how to forget, train in the art of suppression, draw blank like the dead freshly resurrected
ancestors live on pages — we are something else
it takes affirmation peg with survival to pattern archipelagoes:
a soak rag soothing lacerations it takes time to create enough distance stumble upon your reflection, gag it, coerce now
like all things discovered we must name it, amend it, claiming this interpretation of ash
Evan Balkan
Every Way You Look at This You Lose
The nurse is at the end of his shift. That’s obvious. A nest of purple wrinkles shades his
eyes. His hair is greasy and unkempt. A yellow stain has long ago solidified on one of his
sleeves.
When I tell him who I’m there to see, he raises an eyebrow before leading me to her
room.
“You’re her second visitor,” he tells me when he lets me in. “She’s been here a week.”
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