The Wet Sheets

Warning: this piece contains strong language

A sliver of glass

I leapt

from my Father’s

eye reflecting

a Mother that

didn’t exist.

Cigarette butts rose

to Heaven, thunder

formed my torso.

Dust blew through an

umbilicus and

collected to

form fingers

and lips.

Here is my birth:

In the ghettos of

Charleston my

Daddy beat off

and I coagulated

on the ceiling.

Now bound in

cords of placenta

endorphin seeps

through

my veins

and I breath.

Rob Goldstein – 1986-2019

 

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“Poetry is a way to… make bridges from one country to another, one person to another, one time to another.”

from Art of Quotation

Art of Quotation

“Poetry is a way to bridge, to make bridges from one country to another, one person to another, one time to another.”

Joy Harjo, poet, Named U.S. Poet Laureate (The Oklahoma-born writer, a member of the Muscogee Creek Nation, is the first Native American to hold the post.)


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