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Victoria McArtor



i’m wearing bathing suit bottoms

lying on the roof


a caption contest

where the sunset

looks just like a picture

of a sunset

don’t be mistaken

every blueberry tastes different

don’t be mistaken

it’s first in war

before first in peace

old photographs of young people

still look old

we never quite capture time

the difference in reading storm

and actually being wet and stricken

by light

moving the hibiscus inside for winter

scratches my breasts

like the time I searched

for a pillow but found

candy wrappers in bed






Save Our Bones for Broth


Wearing spurs we are young cocks

in a pen, leaning our heads

toward each other, hiding—

soul within soul, we proceed to war.


The butcher shoves her hand

into the chicken’s rectum

reaches for kin, lungs, reaches

with her entire strength

for esophagus, trachea,

secured by an intestinal bow. 


I toss the bones into the basket

and kiss you, we are in a world

all our own.

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