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This poem is taken from PN Review 257, Volume 47 Number 3, January - February 2021.

Four Poems Nina Bogin
What Remains

Buried in weeds, dried by summer heat,
a baby hawk with perfect feathers, talons, beak.

A snail shell whose snail has left.
Under the eaves, an abandoned nest.

Bits of china in the upturned soil –
half a pink flower from the rim of a bowl.

Heart-shaped fossils for our rock collection.
Straw hats from a carefree season.

Knife blades worn to a sliver.
My grandmother’s tarnished silver.

Blue bellflowers on a bamboo fan
brought back from your time in Japan.

On the mailbox of my new home,
your name still written beside my own.



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