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Sharon Shahan
Poetry
In Some Countries It Is Illegal to Call This A Dream  

She wakes up, nothing is the same. Even the sun
hangs suspended. What morning is this? Tell me,

did everything die while we slept? "Calm yourself,"
he tells her--disconnecting his syllables when he talks.

"Only the land has shifted. See the dust circle
our windowsill? It will soon settle. " He eases the knot

in her throat, another in her stomach. Yes, she begs him.
Yes. The way her neck tilts left in conversation

makes his hands seem delicate. He starts at the breast,
instinctive--soft the way his fingers squeeze

the one nipple his mouth does not occupy. Outside
the wind is frantic and she can hear great trees shiver,

the ground tamp itself. Is all of life a prelude for us?
"Yes," he tells her. "Yes." His eyes like two tiny Picassos

conveying for her blue. Magnificant man, she smolders.
Bald beast and tongues the soft spot on his skull.

Her belly round with the world beneath her dress.
But what sounds rattle her eardrum now?

Here, in the pulse-beat, the rumbling, the music
inside his gut? She draws closer. She does not whisper,

she surrounds. Let me suck obsessively the salt,
the white honey. "Yes," he pleads, "yes." His hands

have already lost themselves, his fingers
crazy, counting uno...dos..tres, quatro, quatro.
Writer Bio

Sharon Shahan's poetry recently appeared in Filling Station. She lives in Maryland with her family and edits the online art and poetry journal, Samsara Quarterly.

shahan@intercom.net
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Radu Andriescu - Tudor (translated from the Romanian by Adam J. Sorkin and Radu Andriescu)
Rayn Roberts - Letter to a Longtime Companion
Robert Lietz - Keeping Touch #3
Rochelle Mass - Baptism Doesn't Happen When You're Afraid
Ruth Daigon - Ghost Music
Sharon Shahan - In Some Countries It Is Illegal to Call This A Dream
Suzanne Burns - Hysteria
Ward Kelley - Clear Knowledge
Fiction
Arthur Nersesian - Excerpt from Suicide Casanova
Non-Fiction
Michael Gary Naber - The Report Card

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