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Shana Blatt


i have had one concise thought
since january. this is not it. 

nightly i work up the nerve
to feed myself to the woods,

(as long as the leash allows).
i wish my grip 
was one that held. 

i press for the sake
of feeling my self tense
against it. 

crows scatter like ashes,
noiseless in that diminishing
taxonomy. let me name you

American or Fish—
i offer you, in my clamshell hands,
syllables i have licked clean. 

it has been night too long.
i must do the work
of resetting. presumably, i walk homeward. 

my father tells me our town does not exist.
the ship of theseus, he says, is no ark. 

the lights left on
fluoresce, north star yet to be
acquisitioned in the sharp-shinned dark. 

Shana Blatt is a Connecticut-based copywriter by day. Their poems have previously appeared in Gandy Dancer and High Shelf Press. You can find her on Instagram @semitrash

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