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1 poem
by
Paula Martin

Paula Martin is a writer, PhD candidate, and mead maker. More at paulajoannemartin.com.

september

remember we wove our hair

in braids until the ends, tied in knots

spoke out into dark nights

delicate syllables, betraying

some privacy, and we cut them off

running all summer

with stiff caps of copper and bronze

licking the sides of our freckled faces.

remember how it felt with your hands on the

edge of the cool bathtub and my hand on the

ends of your braids, a tongue that might not

be afraid, enough

the dark night stepped in the window

we heard the chattering, closed the scissors faster.

remember the sound of your dog, then?

dark, too, but better at making his needs known.