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When you were / in the Everglades we canoed from Flamingo and through the canals.
Look at my heartbeat / and its consequence, / that cup warm on my palm
But I do miss the hymns, / the small, hard apples with their dimpled skin. I do miss / things.
As a student, I stitched / a cadaver together / while my professor / said you must / be a predator . . .
I ain’t dead and in this form, / I can matrix my way out of your bullet.
I was also spat across an ocean
and clung to the edge of an unwilling continent.
Selected by Sonia Sanchez as a winner of the 2021 Boston Review Annual Poetry Contest
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