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travel by Zakia Henderson-Brown

her face is just beginning to prove it cannot go unwatered for this long. her body looks ready to buckle— with a slow song:

to wilt

it looks like it’s time to head home. my mother’s powerful lilt

is alive with her impending trip and on the edge of each detail, a leaf lands in her lap until she is a portrait of autumn, skin spiced with the onset of tears, everything bared from the foundation. her father is beyond return from a trip he has been preparing to take all his life. his mind, in its eager manner, left long ago, left the limbs to find their own way— they are failing:

what good his body knows is in a long battle

with no longer knowing. my aunt is attempting to locate what's left him already her small smile, the compass, and failing. my mother is a fretful oak revving her wings what should i pack? her voice, a sapling; a magnificent black dress, an army of seeds, an armor

too. now each journey,

to cover him one last time, an army flag. the last time she went home, her mother left, a torture poised to croon.

Profile for Burner Magazine

Burner Magazine, issue 01 (September 2010)  

The inaugural issue of Burner Magazine, which aims to take the boring out of the literary and arts scenes.

Burner Magazine, issue 01 (September 2010)  

The inaugural issue of Burner Magazine, which aims to take the boring out of the literary and arts scenes.

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