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poet

Jehanne Dubrow

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poem
For weeks, I breathe his body in the sheet
	and pillow. I lift a blanket to my face.
There’s bitter incense paired with something sweet,  	
	like sandalwood left sitting in the heat	
or cardamom rubbed on a piece of lace. 
	For weeks, I breathe his body. In the sheet	
I smell anise, the musk that we secrete
poem

Squint a little, and that’s my husband
in the photograph, the sailor on the left—

the one wearing a rose composed of ink
and the Little Bo Peep who stands

before a tiny setting sun and the blur
on his forearm which might be a boat—

while the sailor on the right is leaning in,