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Alvin Pang

Aubade “My love, I fear the silence of your hands.” —Mahmoud Darwish Overnight, my heart, the forest has grown coldand every leaf shivers with the sure knowledge of its fall,shivers yellow and maple-red and mauve, Summer rememberedin vermillion dying. When I walk the river now it bears merely the lightest press of feet, my body… Continue reading Alvin Pang

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American Culture · American Literature · Aubade · Contemporary · Online Magazine · Online Review · Periodical · Poetry

James Richardson

Late Aubade after Hardy So what do you think, Life, it seemed pretty good to me, though quiet, I guess, and unspectacular. It’s been so long, I don’t know any more how these things go. I don’t know what it means that we’ve had this time together. I get that the coffee, the sunlight on… Continue reading James Richardson

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American Culture · American Literature · Aubade · Classic · Collection · Contemporary · Excerpt · LGBT · Passage · Poetry · Queer · Religion

Meg Day

As if one is a shadow stitched to the other, they sit, knees bent & parted, cradled in the basin of the clawfoot, her belly to his spine. She leans into him, her cheek resting against the blade in his back, & watches the window above the pull-chain warm from bath water to blue. He… Continue reading Meg Day

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American Culture · American Literature · Aubade · Contemporary · Online Magazine · Online Review · Poetry

Charlotte Boulay

Aubade with Pericardium and Visitor What a wreck the sky is this morning, slashed through the middle and all bloody at the seams. When the new moon falls on the first of the month it seems unlucky, such absorbing darkness it’s hard to get out of bed. I open my mouth to test a thought… Continue reading Charlotte Boulay

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American Culture · American Literature · Aubade · Nocturne · Online Anthology · Online Magazine · Periodical · Poetry

Schuyler Van Rensselaer

Under Two Windows I. AUBADE The dawn is here—and the long night through I have never seen thy face, Though my feet have worn the patient grass at the gate of thy dwelling-place. While the white moon sailed till, red in the west, it found the far world edge, No leaflet stirred of the leaves… Continue reading Schuyler Van Rensselaer

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American Culture · American Literature · Aubade · Classic · Collection · Contemporary · Poetry

Amber Flora Thomas

Aubade I know my leaving in the breakfast table mess.    Bowl spills into bowl: milk and bran, bread crust    crumbled. You push me back into bed. More “honey” and “baby.” Breath you tell my ear circles inside me,    curls a damp wind and runs the circuit    of my limbs. I interrogate… Continue reading Amber Flora Thomas

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