In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:

66 gulF​War​and​child:​a​curse He​is​sleeping,​his​fingers​curled, his​belly​pooled​open,​his​legs​gathered,​still in​their​bent​blossom​victory. I​couldn’t​speak​of​“war”​(though​we​all​do), if​I​were​still​the​woman​who​gave​birth to​this​soft-​ footed​one:​his​empty​hand, his​calling​heart,​that​border​of​new​clues. May​the​hard​birth​our​two​heartbeats​unfurled for​two​nights​that​lasted​as​long​as​this​war make​all​sands​rage,​until​the​mouth​of​war drops​its​cup,​that​bleeding​gift​we​poured. ...

Share