Sundays at Saint Steven’s | Davina Philomena Kawuma

Sundays at Saint Steven’s | Davina Philomena Kawuma | Poetry

when god runs out of money (how, no one says) once a week, these days, we come to where the pumpkins bob and the lake flies drop. my father’s widows, long-necked from greening free markets, rounding the stopped doors, sowing selves into cupped hands. my father’s daughters, easily bred on weather-worn benches, bidding the slow […]

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