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Malaika King Albrecht





The Mirrors in Our Chests Can Break 



Her breath after the fever

too quiet of a song,

how can I hear anything but fear?

I invent superstitions:

braided hair and salt water prayers.

I learn how to be still

until the shimmering’s my vision.

Each air molecule, a lantern,

quivers with its own aliveness


and spells god’s many names.

There’s never enough time

to speak them all.













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