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  • No One Says Kin Anymore
  • Bianca Diaz (bio)

Mothers sometimes forget where they come from. If I say seagull, my mother sees a severed wing and a bird panicked in disbelief – sees an assemblage in a greasy parking lot, everyone circling the bird, offering bread, gauze, prayer. We sometimes take drives, my mother and I. Sometimes we try on each other's habits; I drink 3 glasses of Turkish port and she stomps on ant piles to watch them gather soil and rebuild. If mothers abandoned air and learned to braid kelp, they could be mermaids. Sometimes, when we swim together, I hold my mother's breath.

Bianca Diaz

Bianca Diaz’s poems have appeared in Crab Orchard Review, Fourteen Hills, Blue Mesa Review, and Ellipsis. She is the winner of the 2004 Ellipsis Prize for Poetry.

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Additional Information

ISSN
1542-426X
Print ISSN
0032-6682
Pages
p. 110
Launched on MUSE
2006-05-18
Open Access
No
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