By Hadara Bar-Nadav
Featured art: CV VII: Facial Nerve by Emi Olin
My father who named me will never
again call my name in this life
He eats the earth and eats,
silt filling his throat
A little door of light at the head
of his headstone
His name chiseled in and the date
his name ended
Born inside a strange language, not even
his vowels exist
Assemblage of letters one does not speak
like the true name of God
Prayer is a voice worn paper-thin, drifting
across the dirt
The bright word of him—entire
alphabet of loss
Hadara Bar-Nadav is an NEA fellow and author of several books of poetry, among them The New Nudity, Lullaby (with Exit Sign), The Frame Called Ruin, and A Glass of Milk to Kiss Goodnight. She is also co-author of the text- book Writing Poems. Her poems have appeared in The American Poetry Review, Kenyon Review, The New Republic, Ploughshares, Poetry, and Tin House. She is a professor of English at the University of Missouri-Kansas City.
Website: http://hadarabar.com/
Instagram and Twitter: @hadarabar
Featured art – Emi Olin instagram: @abieto.art