Sandra Alcosser


Country: United States
Language(s): English
The Blue Vein

To be human is of the earth, crumbling

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Is humus. Is humility. Bleeding

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We fall down. A dog licks our blood. Sometimes

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We eat songbirds because we are hungry

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A poet might refuse to speak after

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Shelling. Another sings until they starve

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Him, not because he plots against the state

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Because he makes his own song. For the way

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She loved his music, and the way he loved

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The blue vein that rivered from her eyebrow

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To her brain, the widower on the pier

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Lifts his cello. Wrist becomes lips, tongue

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Casals played Bach each morning to sanctify

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The house, sanctify the mind. We are all

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Ephemerals. Our blood so close to the

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Blood of a tree. The cello too is pine

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A body with ribs, belly. Below the

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Winter bud each genus grows its own face

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Vedran Smailovic walks Sarajevo

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With a cello. He wears a tuxedo

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Skeleton of the body is the music’s

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Shape. I don’t think about bombs, about

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Snipers. We have to remind ourselves we

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Are human. I go to the ruined place