The intense yellow sun was high in the sky. The fields were hot and the earth burned the feet of the men running in front of him – they wore no shoes and no one knew why.
There were fifteen of
...
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wet breakfast, I comb my hair
and dress in a cleaner
shirt. in the kitchen,
you move bottles
off the table,
careful as a bulldozer
knocking houses
in palestine. the sun lands
on the front
of the building, twisting
like the face
of a sunflower. windows
gape open around us,
bringing light
and hairbrush-dry heat.