was a word I first learned
on a vocabulary list in
eleventh grade Spanish class,
the Times New Roman font
carving backbones into phonemes,
forcing English-speaking eyes
to halt their tongues at the top
of their hard palates
instead of tasting the fresh air
between teeth, the freedom in
the cold sensation of th.
dripping the word off the lips,
a leaking faucet that hasn’t
yet decided if it should
turn into a stream, maybe a river,
like rivers between shoulder blades,
eroding the back with rain and sweat
on Georgia mornings,
walking to school
carrying a backpack
full of new words.
Originally from Atlanta, GA, with a degree in Literature from Macalester College, Miriam Moore-Keish attends Cambridge University for her Master’s in Children’s Literature. Recent publication venues include Penultimate Peanut Magazine, Collision Literary Magazine, The Underground Journal, The Blue Route, The White Wall Review, The Perch, The Academy of American Poets, and The Sigma Tau Delta Rectangle.
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