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I wrap each useless bauble & bright trinket in
sheaves of Emerson’s self-reliance & JSTOR print-
outs exploring the origin of American individual-
ism in all its smoke & ruggedness. That is not the
metaphor. The metaphor is how our people boil
flesh in its own blood for feast, solder guns out of
scrap metal spark, export our mothers & sisters—
to make it here, there, or any weariness itself is
total caribou shit. It is General Patton’s pipe & a
pair of fake Prada shoes.  It’s a whiff of new
money. It feeds. It is whatever the hell I say it is.
Whatever it is, it’ll need a lot more patis, ma.
Watch me go hard in this piece, ina—

all by lonesome if I have to.

Dujie Tahat is a Filipino-Jordanian immigrant living in Washington state. His poems have been published or are forthcoming in Sugar House ReviewThe Journal, The Southeast Review, Narrative, Bennington Review, Poetry Northwest, Asian American Literary Review, and elsewhere. Dujie has earned fellowships from Hugo House, the Jack Straw Writers Program, and the Poetry Foundation, as well as a work-study scholarship from Bread Loaf Writers’ Conference. He serves as a poetry editor for Moss and Homology Lit, and cohosts The Poet Salon podcast. He got his start as a Seattle Poetry Slam Finalist, a collegiate grand slam champion, and Youth Speaks Seattle Grand Slam Champion, representing Seattle at HBO’s Brave New Voices.
Current Issue
8 Aug 2022

my uncle walks around with amulets tied to his waist
Cia transits between you: a moon the size of home, a tiny hole in Shapa’s swirls.
Foxglove was called Foxglove not because of the flower, but because she could slip into the skin of a fox like a hand into a glove.
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