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QUARANTINE<br />
Henry W. Leung<br />
My feet pound perimeters<br />
into the earth, and I grow old<br />
while the long, imperceptible curve<br />
of the city cuts ahead of me<br />
like a ledge. In the last one<br />
billion years, the moon shrank<br />
a little. Pain travels through me<br />
at three hundred feet per second:<br />
missives from a toxic lover.<br />
My suitcase wheels clack over<br />
every square of sidewalk.<br />
Mountains heave up; I can walk<br />
over anything if I don’t stop.<br />
My lungs won’t fill with stems.<br />
During the Black Death, ships<br />
were kept apart in harbors<br />
for forty days, never more.<br />
Henry W. Leung is a Kundiman Fellow and the author of Paradise Hunger,<br />
which won the 2012 Swan Scythe Press Poetry Chapbook Contest. He is also<br />
a columnist for the Lantern Review, a Soros Fellow, and working toward<br />
completion of his MFA in Fiction at the University of Michigan. His work<br />
has appeared in such publications as Cerise Press, Memoir Journal, and<br />
ZYZZYVA.<br />
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