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LIKE A SONG by Deon Robinson

I inhale the steam,

my mother told me hymns linger in the nostrils.

Even after the fact,

even among the radioactive fallout of tears,

Showering is hard because rain conjures memories,

and though I love sunsets, I would not want to play pretend with doppelgängers.

Despite all the scrubbing, I still smell like a phantom,

like everything my father has tried not to be and thus became.


DEON ROBINSON is an Afro-Latino poet born and raised in Bronx, New York. He is an undergraduate at Susquehanna University, where he was the recipient of the Janet C. Weis Prize for Literary Excellence. You can find his work currently or forthcoming in Glass’ Poets Resist Series, Homology Lit, Honey and Lime Lit, Kissing Dynamite Poetry, Occulum Journal, and the Shade Journal, among others. Follow his misadventures and let him know what your favorite poems are on Twitter @djrthepoet.


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