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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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