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by Dannielle Pendzich

After he ripped me to two

twin fish circling without sound,

mother did her best to bury me. The flesh

already eager to dissolve, to feed the fields.

There is a different story, the speaking

and reverberation not without wanting.

For now, the bones return to her, animals

graze, the reflection pool never changing,

never tearing away from his gaze.

After he killed me, I spoke so gently to him,

always that last word: me why love.

In answer: your rage is unbecoming,

I can’t bend my heart to meet it,

can't love for fear of you.

So soft you barely heard it whispering

along your skin, goosebumps starting,

why love me why me love me

About the Author

Dannielle Pendzich is a poet is playwright from Pittsburgh, Pa. Her interests are the rural and surreal.

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