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This writing was accepted for publication
in the 108 page perfect-bound ISSN# /
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My Name
Is Equality

Down in the Dirt, v198 (the 8/22 Issue)



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How strangers still say “bless you”

Kim Malinowski

when someone sneezes, a leftover from the bubonic plague.


-Danusha Lameris




“Don’t die,” we are saying
faint prayer on lips—
we say “bless you” to the woman
on the corner asking for money.
This year, I gave her money,
crayons and word puzzles for the five
children, laying in the grass—eyes down
until she laughed, waved them over,
and I did not mean to say, “don’t die,” but
instead “good luck—the world will take
what it can, but I won’t sacrifice the children.”

And I said “don’t die” to whoever stole my wallet
at the grocery store. And while I had no avocados,
it was returned four houses down.
I would have given you my money, no questions asked.
But “bless you” for not trying the credit cards.
They had $8 left on them that you could have used
and didn’t.

Today, there were three flitting sparrows zooming
through the garage. They know me for my pumpkin
and gourds, the birdseed for the squirrels beside
my parakeet’s grave. They tell me “don’t die.”
I call to the birds “bless you” as they exit chittering.

Don’t let the changing winds chill you.
Bless what you can while you can.
It does matter.
Our faint prayers echo.
Join each other’s “don’t die.”
Hush.
Surrender to joint chorus in the pulse of veins.



Scars Publications


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