Today’s choice
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Amirah Al Wassif
The Double
My double sits before me now. I stare deep into her, as I do every day after midnight. When I raise my hands, she raises hers. When I wink with my right eye, she winks back. My childish braid sticks its tongue out at us both.
“Good evening, my double,” I say. “Hello,” she says. “How are things? Anything new?”
I consider the question, exactly as I do every day. Anything new?
The sun rises daily. The moon follows us everywhere. Flowers open and close, yet people still pluck them for others with broken hearts. I still count to a hundred before opening any message. The plagues are here. The jealous neighbor is here. The traumas remain.
We still let the large moths sleep among the clothes in the closet, hoping they are the souls of our dead. We still go shopping, read motivational stories, and ruin the environment while holding conferences on how to fix it. Living on Earth, we book digital outfits.
My double is like a photo negative. Her dreams have a voice; her imagination is larger than the galaxy. Yet, she asks: “Anything new?”
I narrow my eyes slyly—the philosopher. I hug myself to reassure us both. The Earth is still here. Yesterday’s breath is still on the pillow. My aunt is still fighting with her husband. New Year’s Eve repeats.
Amirah Al Wassif is an award-winning poet and author. Her poetry collection, For Those Who Don’t Know Chocolate, was published in February 2019 by Poetic Justice Books & Arts, followed by her illustrated children’s book, The Cocoa Boy and Other Stories, in February 2020. Bedazzled Ink Publishing Company released her collection, How to Bury a Curious Girl, in 2022. Most recently, her latest collection, The Rules of Blind Obedience, was published in December 2024. Her work has appeared in numerous print and online publications, including South Florida Poetry, Birmingham Arts Journal, Hawaii Review, The Meniscus, Chiron Review, The Hunger, Writers Resist, Reckoning, and Event Magazine, among others.
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the sun is a
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lifted
from the sea
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Yes, you gave us your elegant hands
and capricious smile, but as I make my way
to the chiropodist this morning,
it’s your feet I’m thinking of . . .
Martin Ferguson
Pursue the facsimile
of the attendance sign;
here you must join the line.
Peter Branson
Emerge, from way beyond the pale, one day,
clenched feet an amulet about your wrist
Alice Huntley
carved from the tusk of my grandmother
I am learning how to remember
Bel Wallace
My dad is thinking geometrically,
eyes closed; he waves his arms
Sarah Crowe
they gave me the cold
cap to stop my chemo
hair falling out