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Poetry :: Heather Napualani Hodges

Each Love Is The Selfish Love


Traditionally a body in its longing turns to salt.

We punish the gesture. Which is looking back. Which is the city that is burning.
But with children inside. Which only women do. So really, we punish the dress.
Which absolves the gesture.

The ocean is inside you they say. As if this helps.


I walk around all day like this.


Read the rest on Banango Street.

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