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Strange thing.
To make another person,
With another person.
Strange thing.
To be half of one person
And half of another —
So that it might seem,
All the good that lives in you
Is a breathing monument of them.
And all that feels
Wrong
Is an accident of natural dangers
Like the graze on your pillow palms
When you
Tripped
And fell,
Five years old.
Strange thing.
To have a slice of yourself
Walking up your stairs
And through your kitchen
Like a most oblivious
Home invasion.
The only risk is that
They gain an
Understanding
Like this
One.
— Frank Baring
Submit your poetry, short fiction or personal musings to bweditors@columbia.edu
By Zibia Bardin The following is an excerpt from a longer work. 1. I visit my grandmother. Outside, the earth presses its face into a pillow. My grandmother’s back is to us when we come in. Her spine