We see the public statues


water-stained and darker now.


Small bullet scars on buildings—



how can it be so quiet?


Though I keep almost hearing


someone close behind me,



the not quite footsteps,


voices traveling toward me,


and I am in a dog’s world



without the dog’s keen hearing.


I have only my sad psyche


where rounded cobblestones



appear like tops of shaven heads


and underneath,


the rest of their clothed bodies,



cramped into a crowd


mercilessly, still standing.






Sally Bliumis-Dunn teaches Modern Poetry at Manhattanville College. She recieved her MFA in Poetry from Sarah Lawrence in 2002. Her poems have appeared in Bellevue Literary Review, From the Fishouse, The Paris Review, PBS NewsHour,  Prairie Schooner, PLUME, Poetry London, the NYT, Terrain.OrgThe Writer’s Almanac and The Academy of American Poets’ Poem-a-day series, among others. In 2002, she was a finalist for the Nimrod/Hardman Pablo Neruda Prize.  Her two books, Talking Underwater and Second Skin were published by Wind Publications in 2007 and 2009, respectively.  She also has a chapbook, Galapagos Poems, recently published by Kattywompus Press.






Issue #63 October 2016
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