eating persimmons meant for crows/is the combination of uppers and downers/the weight of
branches can withstand against the snap of me. for they have their own

bellies and tire of doubling as benches for feathers heavy/with nevermore. thick-billed raven of the
motherland/a home for diasporic longing

performed painfully in grass skirts and face masks grafted onto roman busts of women/whose lips
leak violence of

why sex can never settle bets. i bit into your flesh so like an apple/so like shiny wet sheen sin
swelling in my mouth/scoffing at the numbness that means

the end of you.


Alison Reed’s poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in several journals including Skin to Skin, Cactus Heart, Femme Dreamboat, and So to Speak, and she was recently nominated for a Pushcart Prize. She is pursuing her PhD in English at the University of California, Santa Barbara, where she is taking a brief respite from the city life she longs for.

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  1. Pingback: Issue Eight, July 2014 | Matter

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