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by Ashley Rebhun
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I still dip my finger in the breaking wake
and make an absent path for him
to scrape by in a countryside
that was gutted and remade
into pressed un-American molds.
Anchoring away from the woman
and her oath– my shelter now
in the valley lit by the buck moon.
I threw its gravity and made it bend
around my griefs and disbeliefs
when I was left to chant alone.
Using a tonic in hand full of gin
to escape the candor of his death
that surged in my back, while left
dancing alone to the rhythm of corpses
that bathe with the pinkish dead.
I still think of him when it’s quiet
with the absent afterglow
that’s indistinguishable inside this storm.
How strange still this bombing
has made tarred thoughts and promises
inside Mars’ beckoned odyssey
wondering if his winds are fair
and do the seas follow?
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Ashley Rebhun is an OEF and OIF veteran and an emerging writer. Through her pen-to-paper journey, she has found her voice in an ear-splitting world and utilizes her studies to fully understand how writing can assist with trauma. Ashley lives in Norfolk, Virginia with her husband, two children, and an exhibition of furry friends. Her work has been published in UVA’s Mosaic, Penultimate Peanut, and is forthcoming in Passengers Journal.
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