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Ayes (In Memory of Analog) | Amina Watson

Ice on the back of my teeth
to numb the small pain
of you
in another city,
the cold slick on my molars.
There’s a wind in my lungs.
You’ve stepped out of range.

I see the long groove
in the bed your mass left here
reposing, the decline of your outline
like a second Shadow.

Isoceles: the shape of this poem is
two towers and one satellite
that passes above me.
It’s about to come on
there’s dead air on the line
— Your diurnal eclipse.

Amina Watson is at the Yale School of Law.  She will be moving to Texas soon to work in a prison that’s like 200 miles away from all civilization and she feels she will be listening to a lot of books on tape.

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