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By Nailah Mathews From Issue No. 7

they are performing this in an unprivate place;

wrapped in pink satin, the clammy, red-eyed daughter

with her

  mouth full of ghosts and mint juleps and

at high noon,


her forehead on the marbled   parlor   floor

the hangedmen    chanting in persimmontongue

her little sister     is growling

      behind the ottoman in the foyer still

even after   being told not to


About Nailah Mathews More From Issue No. 7