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Nice, France, 1890, and: Magdeburg, Germany, 1912, and: Tehran, Iran, 1941, and: Los Alamos, New Mexico, 1945, and: At Last, She Is Finished with Emptiness

Nice, France, 1890, and: Magdeburg, Germany, 1912, and: Tehran, Iran, 1941, and: Los Alamos, New... poetr y Katie Bickham Nice, France, 1890 In the night, Josephine dreamed of saints and monsters. St. Gerard’s blessed kerchief settled on a dying mother’s belly as she labored, and lo, the baby came, the mother saved. But then they turned to dragons. The Devil swallowed St. Margaret whole until she burst from his belly, the holy birthed from evil. She woke to Grand-Mère’s cold and certain fingers on her ankle. “Come, Josephine. Lamps and water to the inner room. Arise. We are needed.” Secretly, Grand-Mère was called Faiseuse D’Anges, The Angel Maker, white witch who cast the pebble of a child into the sky. The girl on the table fisted crumpled francs, face splashed with firelight. She’d been before, raped by her father, had thrown herself from a terrace to crush the quickening, but only cracked her jaw, which jutted still to one side. Grand-Mère had let the air in then, swept baby away, then laid the ailing girl beside three others in her own bed to coax her color back. That was last year, before Grand-Mère offered Josephine an apron, taught her how to tend women, watch the basins to be sure they’d got it all. http://www.deepdyve.com/assets/images/DeepDyve-Logo-lg.png The Missouri Review University of Missouri

Nice, France, 1890, and: Magdeburg, Germany, 1912, and: Tehran, Iran, 1941, and: Los Alamos, New Mexico, 1945, and: At Last, She Is Finished with Emptiness

The Missouri Review , Volume 40 (2) – Jul 19, 2017

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University of Missouri
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Copyright © The Curators of the University of Missouri.
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1548-9930
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Abstract

poetr y Katie Bickham Nice, France, 1890 In the night, Josephine dreamed of saints and monsters. St. Gerard’s blessed kerchief settled on a dying mother’s belly as she labored, and lo, the baby came, the mother saved. But then they turned to dragons. The Devil swallowed St. Margaret whole until she burst from his belly, the holy birthed from evil. She woke to Grand-Mère’s cold and certain fingers on her ankle. “Come, Josephine. Lamps and water to the inner room. Arise. We are needed.” Secretly, Grand-Mère was called Faiseuse D’Anges, The Angel Maker, white witch who cast the pebble of a child into the sky. The girl on the table fisted crumpled francs, face splashed with firelight. She’d been before, raped by her father, had thrown herself from a terrace to crush the quickening, but only cracked her jaw, which jutted still to one side. Grand-Mère had let the air in then, swept baby away, then laid the ailing girl beside three others in her own bed to coax her color back. That was last year, before Grand-Mère offered Josephine an apron, taught her how to tend women, watch the basins to be sure they’d got it all.

Journal

The Missouri ReviewUniversity of Missouri

Published: Jul 19, 2017

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