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  • First Year
  • Ashley Mace Havird (bio)

Mine was a child’s fall,the hurt a mother or father can more or less fixwith Band-Aids, a kiss. Almost to the topof the steep concrete steps to the gym,my toe jammed. Caught my weight on stiff arms.(Decent reflexes for sixty-three.) Spectacularlybloody, my scraped-raw palms, skinned knees . . .The healing, though! I was obsessed.Hands held out, fingers splayed. Imagine:all those invisible cells repairing.First the shredded skin—it dried overnightthe way a fallen leaf dries.Next the archipelago of scabs.The clear plastic film of scar.After a week, good as new . . .Nine months ago, my father died.Every day at least once but usually moreI think, You are gone from this worldwhere you lived all my life.It seems a miracle. [End Page 737]

Ashley Mace Havird

Ashley Mace Havird’s most recent collection of poems, The Garden of the Fugitives, won the 2013 X. J. Kennedy Prize. Her novel, Lightningstruck, won the 2015 Ferrol Sams Award.

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