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June & hands unsure if they want to become hands,

    & the dogs tied to a woman’s hip bones, searching

 

the space between us & finding a stillborn.

    June & letting the light leak fast through the car window

 

as Arizona appears like a dead giant over the hood.

    June & red bones & red mesas.

 

June & stretching my mouth wider

    than it has ever been, even when it was a phoebe,

 

into a sinkhole, your hands loose & jointless against the gums.  

    June & the dogs sleeping in the yard, dissipating into black smoke,

 

as wrens fall backward out of an oiled sky.  

    June & sitting lemon slices onto my tongue

 

until I become a mangrove. June & pulling me apart

    like the bones of a New Year fish.

 

June & how I could be one of those women

    who are born of tea leaves & kerosene, who leave

 

birthmarks in the bathroom sink to prove it.

    June & June & another stillborn in the tub,

 

soaking in the murk of cassava & chollas.

    June & warblers suspended mid-flight in the air,

 

& you skinning June like a fish.

    June & Phoenix dissolving between my fingers

 

like evening light. June & the hymns

    that resound from the desert mornings,

 

saguaros coiling into their abdomens

    at the slow wane of June into our hill-rotted mouths.

 

Yes, June & the jackrabbit shotgunned

    out across the highway, the baby in the backseat

 

wailing like a bronze trumpet, June & how

    for a moment I was the shotgunned jackrabbit,

 

& I was the sobbing baby, & I was the voice

    that dipped like a minnow & folded into it

 

as June kneeled & slippered under the tires,

    as though dropping, beak-first, into glass.

Cylindropuntia

We Eat Breakfast at 7:30, Lunch at 12, and Dinner at 5

during visitation

my mother removes her skin

like peeling off a wet shirt

drapes it over my blue shoulders

her grief calcifying to a tooth in my mouth

    don’t stay here, she said,

        my daughter of crushed jasmine leaves,

her hands compressing around my biceps

like the barrel of my father’s shotgun

constricting around a glassed buckshot

to make it shriek

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Kathryn Hargett is a senior at the Alabama School of Fine Arts. Her work has been regularly recognized by universities and organizations such as Princeton University, the Alliance for Young Artists & Writers, the President’s Committee on the Arts and Humanities, the Alabama Writers' Forum, the UK Poetry Society, and others. She is the editor-in-chief of TRACK//FOUR, a literary magazine for writers and artists of color. Her poetry has been published in or is forthcoming from the Adroit Journal, Gigantic Sequins, DIALOGIST, the Fem, |tap| magazine, Sierra Nevada Review, and elsewhere. She is a Chinese-American poet from the outskirts of Birmingham, Alabama.

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