By Nancy MorejónJuly 4, 2022 The dead are what’s absent,forgotten, inert.A bell rings outits loneliness swaying amid the roses.The dead come out at nightor they come out in the afternoonto feed from gourds,from lecterns,from other people’s throats,from guitar pegs,from the key and the calabash,from scissors blunted by use,on the concrete of plazas,on savage smells,on nectar,on […]
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