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The Ruptured
by Barbara Schwartz

February 3, 2021 Contributed By: Barbara Schwartz

Bathtub
Image by ErikaWittlieb from Pixabay

Post-birth               my mother needed to bathe

three times a day          After each I was                   

to blow-dry                  the rupture

with cool air            roving over her                                   

blue translucence         We searched

but could not               find the tear               

The ancestors                     knelt beside the pink                

walls and sang                 wringing their hands          

in shame:                     keep searching         

keep searching                     or we will not heal


BARBARA SCHWARTZ is the author of the chapbook Any Thriving Root (dancing girl press, 2017). A finalist for the 1913 Poetry Prize, her hybrid poetry manuscript What Survives is the Fire was selected for Boomerang Theater’s First Flight New Play, and has been included in The University of Miami’s Holocaust Theater Catalog. Her poems have appeared in Upstreet, Nimrod International Journal of Prose and Poetry, Carolina Quarterly, Quiddity, Tinderbox Poetry Journal, Potomac Review, and elsewhere. Barbara lives with her family in Brooklyn, NY.

Filed Under: Poetry Posted On: February 3, 2021

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