That spring my wife covered the walls of our living room in newsprint.

By Sadia Quraeshi Shepard
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Poetry

Our Lady of Scapulars, we carry you around / like credentials, like disgrace, we suffer
this insufferable heat and your packaged spirit’s / smothered by the reek of our sweat—how much closer / must we be?

Poetry

My family has legends in the form of a spider’s legs.

Poetry

& on the drive to LAX /when I ask you not to cry this time, you look / at me with reverence as if to say, what came from me / is so much more than I am

Poetry

Older now, the sparrow God / gave my grandmother in place /of succulence.

Poetry

Our Lady of Scapulars, we carry you around / like credentials, like disgrace, we suffer
this insufferable heat and your packaged spirit’s / smothered by the reek of our sweat—how much closer / must we be?

Poetry

& on the drive to LAX /when I ask you not to cry this time, you look / at me with reverence as if to say, what came from me / is so much more than I am

Poetry

My family has legends in the form of a spider’s legs.

Poetry

Older now, the sparrow God / gave my grandmother in place /of succulence.