American Culture · American Literature · Classic · Contemporary · Excerpt · Fragment · Online Anthology · Online Review · Periodical · Poetry

Joy Harjo

I will never forget you. Your nakedness
haunts me in the dawn when I can not distinguish your
flushed brown skin from the burning horizon, or my hands.
The smell of chaos lingers in the clothes
you left behind. I hold you
there.

—  Joy Harjo, from “Songs from the House of Death, or How to Make It Through to the End of a Relationship,” The American Poetry Review (vol. 28, no. 3, May/June 1999)

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