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marian flores

Semester Abroad, Aberdeen, Scotland, 1985

​Yarn spills inky purple through my fingers
onto needles, hands twisting turning to make
 
row upon row of knots. I am knitting exile
into a sweater swollen with too-long sleeves.
     
Orange headphones kiss ears, sing of women
out and proud. Yarn tears at my hands 
 
even when I walk. Knitting ghosts me down
into the old city where cobblestones stripe roads
 
into the empty library lined with bands of shelves
into the mortuary where a red-haired girl lies
 
on a metal bier behind a window, curtains pulled
open for a moment so I can identify her. Wispy bangs.
 
Bruised face. Orange-checked tweed. Scarf
butterscotch moss-stitched. Someone offers tea.
 
My hands make purl knit purl. Down by the sea
sand unfurls against the crestless swells. In the winkles
 
on the wrinkled shore, there are no pearls.
I knit a shroud of thunderclouds.

S. Erin Batiste
Marian Flores is a writer and nationally recognized leadership coach with a long history of working in U.S. communities of color on issues of social and economic justice. Her writing is rooted in that experience and explores the intersection of exile, spirituality, and identity. She is an alum of the Kearney Street Interdisciplinary Writers Lab, the Napa Valley Writers Conference, and the Highlights Foundation's Whole Novel Workshop. A Salvadoran immigrant, she and her wife live in California's East Bay.
Art: Untitled, Amber Tattersall
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