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SubtextTo Emma Alvarez Gibson's previous piece     And A Fighter By His TradeTo Emma's next piece


Just maybe once 
while handing 
to me. I forget now 
what. Your massive 
hand, dry from clay, 
foreign with forbidding 
coarse black hairs,
rested on mine for 
longer than necessary.

Juxtaposition raced
through me, filling
every empty space. 
Blood rushed 
to my face.

Your silence
and blue eyes, 
roiled with dark,
named me woman.
Whorls and loops
imprinted deeply,

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