by Andrea Baker

selected by Claudia Rankine

From Gilda

gilda is a white-throat child

a thrown open door-child

a missing in the attic child

and gilda, the lay assassin

has no hands


            gilda: still lay
            them upon me
pull your face off

from the tattooed face

my broken egg eyes

put your tongue upon me

ghost out my sight

inside the double sided wall

            and in the historical blue

            machine gun sky
 valley to be lifted through

valley to be licked


our tight feet in hide

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