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Poetry: Confession

The bird hides inside, tucked inside my ribcage

too rotten to present. Bodies twist, limbs flail

but I didn’t come.

Dark and black and wet, he’s swimming

in the sweat of other women, rotten

to the heart. The bird is in here, barely visible

in the sick hot summer, intent on

murdering angels.

Even through the cigarette smoke and birthday cologne

he’s in my heart—I can smell him.

Holly Day ( has been a writing instructor at the Loft Literary Center in Minneapolis since 2000. Her poetry has recently appeared in Hubbub, Grain, and Third Wednesday, and hernewest books are The Tooth is the Largest Organ in the Human Body (Anaphora Literary Press), Book of Beasts (Weasel Press), Bound in Ice (Shanti Arts), and Music Composition for Dummies (Wiley).

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