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Poem: Nesting




A red bird hides in the gutters of my grandmother's house
& I wake gasping from a dream where she was swallowed
by a heaving ocean & the bird builds a nest out of the muck
that hasn't been cleared away & I learn that even in dreams
you can never outrun the flood & the bird settles in
& the roof of my grandmother's house sags downward
into a smile.

—Emily Zogbi

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