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January 23, 2018

Paula  by Hafizah Geter



Hafizah, when you sleep, a storm suddenly opens its jaw like that

ancient dog your neighbors used to beat in front of God and

everybody. The wasps duel like prophets and hide their nests in

your clothes. Every day your eyes are barefoot. A child could kick

the door of you in. So what if you are some kind of Icarus?

Sunlight jails itself in your bone. Remember when our eyes were

two halves of a locket? And on TV women were so crazy men had

to snatch them by their elbows? You still look like the first time 

we learned swans were vicious. That year you could carry not

even your name. Let's pretend this grief is possible to initiate even

when sober. Let's pretend I am Paula no more. Fact - if you

segregate the kingdom by genus you will find the moon bears all 

the markers of a boarded up fireplace, that the blowflies always

find the coyote. In the game of truth, you pick the dare every


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