heirloom lands bound for glory on winged-heel hand-me-downs from high above. the train still tracks this land, chugs on, but the devil shovels coal sometimes. and we sit side by side, barely aware—that we are, or we’ve been, or they were passengers, bound to forget, bound to be taught, bound to remember. bound for glory, almighty inheritance; to wear it, barely aware of it. the land fits our feet for it. shapes us under stairs we can’t see. under stares we can’t see. Hannah Zerai Hannah Zerai is a writer from the Eastern Shore of Maryland. She spends most of her time managing the vast and tiny world of chronic illness, bouncing between art projects, and collecting things that really don’t need to be collected. Her writing has appeared in The Mighty, Halfway Down the Stairs, and The Skinny Poetry Journal.
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September 2023
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