[M45]

Earlier at the clinic,

a child told me he wanted to drink bleach;

certain he will never be healed.

Driving on a fog-smothered road,

I cry over the sudden blossoming

of snowflakes on my windshield.

This poem appeared in Agimat by Romalyn Ante, published by Chatto & Windus, 2024.

10.09.2026

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