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Poem: The Violence of Things Unnoticed 

At the edge of the ocean, a gull,
cry flung from the deepest song of bone:
It might be the song of a woman
walking home at midnight,
the hyperbolic curve
of hunger running
toward and away from life.
It might be hunger itself—
absence, or desire.
It might be the woman I saw on Fifth Avenue
thin leaf, shaking
for lack of home.

Speaking of...

  • A poem by Christina Lilian Turczyn.

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