Anna Zwade is a queer poet based in Virginia. She earned her degree from Virginia Commonwealth University with an academic focus on female autonomy. When she isn’t writing, she enjoys advocating for policy reform and outdoor accessibility. You can find more of her published work at annazwade.com.
my mother is a broken window
she doesn’t feel the sun.
my father is a fixer—
a kitchen sink, picket fence,
unoiled hinges on doors
he understands fragments
from my mother’s shadow,
filling holes instead of asking
if a hurricane feels remorse.
his chest is a repaired television set
replaying the same clip
over and over:
a sky cutting itself open—
bleeding for morning to wake.
over and over,
I watch the footage replay.
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