Debt by Dana Delibovi

The slick road. The rain eating the courtyard,  
making gullies where grass has thinned.  

Scream of the blue jay, same sound 
as my grandmother’s clothesline. 

That day she pulled the sheets into her laundry shack in the rain. 
Knowing limits, knowing money running like rain. Gullies etched 

by gambling. Bookies crowbarring in, scattering birds in the courtyard. 
My marbles scattering. Knives in the hall, again the scream.  

Anger, then resignation. Stolen pearl earrings. Gold locket hiding two pictures, 
Mother, Father. The old crag in Reggio, the old cragged faces. 

Rope in a bag in the windswept rain,  
the sheets sopping, the birds fighting.

Dana Delibovi is a poet, essayist, and translator. Her work has recently appeared in After the Art, Apple Valley Review, Bluestem, The Confluence, Ezra Translations, Linden Avenue, Noon, and Zingara Poetry Review. In 2020, Delibovi received a Pushcart Prize nomination. She is consulting poetry editor at Witty Partition.

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