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Poetry of Issue #8        Page 79

Ghosts in the Blood

The blue sky, bright above the trees
that have begun to sprout leaves
among early spring’s bare branches.

The sun’s polka dots burst
around buildings, and corners.
America’s landscape

Promising until we reckon
the volume of blood
saturating the earth

from the wounded and dying.
I imagine the final steps
ancestors, young and old

took as they trudged
to face another day.
America has always been broken.

  Margaret R. Sáraco