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Migration Narrative
 
What wilts becomes
the world for the weary.
They can’t help but
 
wonder at the lovely
shadow touch of another
war’s rubbled song.
 
If crossing freely into fire
can churn the blood’s
hollow music, then
 
surely the orphan can
ask at dusk for water
and get more than spit.


First published in Prairie Schooner, Spring 2017