Nathalie Khankan Still Torn

said on these storied soils | don’t spoil any seed | there is no pure race | a bride is still bridal | a checkpoint is STILL TORN HILL | in just a few weeks topographical categories shift & our bodies move toward a lid with a tighter seal | with the hill gone another concrete tower erupts & the militarized sanitized | it’s a border crossing running through continuous land | if i get married i will get stuck here & my wedding thōb against the bodies of busses jamming here | if i bear a child my engorged breasts here | the human count is a crucible


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