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poem



by Simon Baena



Border Crossing



Despite the country burning

for over a year,

you listened to the swarming

starlings.


The first dawn of summer.

The morning after

the funeral.


You threw the wreath,

scooped

the cold and clammy

earth,


whispering,

This is how I remember,


and placed it

in the jar

with the moon’s

last firefly.


 

Simon Anton Niño Diego Baena is the author of three chapbooks, most recently Ritual and Other Poems (Blue Horse Press). He has been nominated twice for the Pushcart Prize. His work has appeared in Poetry Daily, The Bitter Oleander, Osiris, The Columbia Review, The Midwest Quarterly, The Louisville Review, Mantis, Hawaii Pacific Review, Louisiana Literature, and elsewhere. He lives in the Philippines with his wife and child.

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