From the Border We Gave It a Name Set beneath the still life we caught the fruits. They shivered, quiet, before our tiny triangle of mouth. I call it the ancient brain, that scribbling feeling. Many children painted families holding three-fingered hands. The homes are, at turns, bigger or smaller than the families. We don’t read too much into it. I once painted a family. Lumber was in their eyes. There came a time when people yelled, “I will put my face on it!” Poster child, you broke the 4th wall! I once drew a woman with her head on a spoon. Now she has a friend. The great meat conundrum starts in the heart. This poem wants to be where two colors meet. A dismissal too is an invitation. From the train, a commodity of faces. The urban kiss of muchness. If I had a face for every window, a window for every face. Make a wish! Just do it, say my eyes to my wet silent mouth. It’s not rocket science, it’s Paris. When I say don’t tread, I leave a smudge or two. We walked in each other’s shoes until sand became our feet. I am tired of the heat, the ancient stain of hunger. Someone, touch me when it’s noon. Nicole Burdick Nicole Burdick is a Language Arts educator living in Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam where ants now make their way into her poems more often. Despite the fact that people bless her for doing it, facilitating a thinking-is-fun environment about literature for teenagers is actually a dream job. She also paints abstract stories, collages broken tile, and cooks like she is from everywhere. Her poems can be found in Fence and elsewhere.
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The Ekphrastic Review
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February 2025
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