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A Quarterly Journal
Jeffrey Woodward, Founder & General Editor
Volume 6, Number 4, December 2012


Amy Ekins
Gateshead, Tyne and Wear, England


I asked you into my domestic spaces, places kept private in the past. I poured you lemonade, and asked where you would be staying, hoping that it was near. It didn’t take long for the choice to be made and for skin to meet skin in the freshly-pressed sheets—oh, how new it was to us then. You never made that delivery, distracted by bringing me to my own, and praising Him for such a turn in luck. While your back was turned, I was turning keys, keeping you with me to piece together a teaghlach. I knotted your tongue to my own, three quick times.

I saddled the air
and censored the wind—vacuumed
until we were dry
and still in our mouths and eyes
tongue-tied in sterile white rooms

Author’s note: “teaghlach: from the Gaelic, “family who live beneath the same roof.”



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