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    [post_date] => 2018-10-18 11:43:36
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    [post_content] => We always go where there are graves. / When she dies of pneumonia / they drop three coins in her mouth / bury her under the house in Xiamen. / For days after / her son kisses the floor / prays for new palms to pray with / searches for an eyelash / a used toothpick / a blood-tipped sewing needle / some sign that she lived. / As if he was born to mourn / the years she cannot touch / he waits for her ghost / to return unwinged / but the night will not open its mouth. / Years later / soldiers come for the house. / He digs the floor with his hands / holds her ribs to his cheek / and sets her alight in a barrel. / When she is small enough / to cup in his hands / he takes her to a temple in the mountains. / When some unholy road / rattles her picture from the wall / shakes every box soulless / he finds her a dust road mausoleum / fits the sun around her photograph / and leaves for Sóc Trăng. / From the highest shelf / she hears him / singing a song she cannot understand / with his halved tongue. 
    [post_title] => Journey
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    [post_modified] => 2018-10-18 11:43:36
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    [guid] => http://poems.poetrysociety.org.uk/?post_type=poems&p=19574
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            [wpcf-date-published] => 2018
            [wpcf-summary-description] => This poem is commended in the 2018 August Challenge #1 on Young Poets Network (YPN).
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            [wpcf-poem-award] => Commended 2018 August challenge #1
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            [ID] => 19544
            [forename] => 
            [surname] => 
            [title] => Natalie Linh Bolderston
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            [content] => Natalie is the second-prize winner in the Timothy Corsellis Poetry Prize 2018 on Young Poets Network and commended in the 2018 August #1 challenge on prose poems.
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    [ID] => 19544
    [forename] => 
    [surname] => 
    [title] => Natalie Linh Bolderston
    [slug] => natalie-linh-bolderston
    [content] => Natalie is the second-prize winner in the Timothy Corsellis Poetry Prize 2018 on Young Poets Network and commended in the 2018 August #1 challenge on prose poems.
)

Journey

Natalie Linh Bolderston

We always go where there are graves. / When she dies of pneumonia / they drop three coins in her mouth / bury her under the house in Xiamen. / For days after / her son kisses the floor / prays for new palms to pray with / searches for an eyelash / a used toothpick / a blood-tipped sewing needle / some sign that she lived. / As if he was born to mourn / the years she cannot touch / he waits for her ghost / to return unwinged / but the night will not open its mouth. / Years later / soldiers come for the house. / He digs the floor with his hands / holds her ribs to his cheek / and sets her alight in a barrel. / When she is small enough / to cup in his hands / he takes her to a temple in the mountains. / When some unholy road / rattles her picture from the wall / shakes every box soulless / he finds her a dust road mausoleum / fits the sun around her photograph / and leaves for Sóc Trăng. / From the highest shelf / she hears him / singing a song she cannot understand / with his halved tongue.