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  • Writer's pictureJan Avellana

I have

a jelly jar

of memories,

with a metal lid.

I poked holes in it

so the memories can breathe,

but not get out.

It would make a good

wildflower vase—

I could stick the tender stems

into the holes

so they sway just so.


But I won’t.


It is only

for keeping

memories.


-J. Avellana, 2019

  • Writer's pictureJan Avellana

I

am

a

weed

woody,

gangly,

no

lipstick,

no

shine.

But

I

know

how

to

grow

through

cement.

I

know

how

to

take

a

sliver

of

filtered

sunlight

and

a

teaspoon

of

dirt

and

make

a

life.

I

can’t

go

deep

so

I

go

wide,

fingers

crawling

under

city

streets,

down

past

Front

Street—

and

around

the

corner,

to

the

end

of

the

block

and

back

again.

-Jan Avellana, 2019

  • Writer's pictureJan Avellana

ebony birds threading the fading horizon

a hem to heaven

weaving a passage for the wanderer, the saint, the sinner

i find my way home.


-Jan Avellana Hongo

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