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By JACQUELYN POPE 
Girl when you get lost
the forest will find you
tame you   take you over.

Pocket of breadcrumbs
and birdsong. Pocket of rocks. 


The ends of town   the noise
of home are lost
where you go digging down

and out   and under
furrowed in mud and stone.
When you rise and run

remember   the good black silt
of these good green days

tilt of this time   beaten fast
then faster ground given shape
and shine   its living part

where you bloom   like a dare
worked out of the dark.

 

Jacquelyn Pope is the author of Watermark. Hungerpots, her translations of the Dutch poet Hester Knibbe, is forthcoming. She is the recipient of a 2015 NEA Translation Fellowship, a PEN/Heim Translation Fund grant, and awards from the Academy of American Poets and the Massachusetts Cultural Council.

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The Ground That Walks

ALAA ALQAISI
We stepped out with our eyes uncovered. / Gaza kept looking through them— / green tanks asleep on roofs, a stubborn gull, / water heavy with scales at dawn. // Nothing in us chose the hinges to slacken. / The latch turned without our hands. / Papers practiced the border’s breath.