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  You could have a big dipper   

hard honey by Aubri Kaufman

jesus saves finger-cut through filth, layer-

caked to an airstream windshield,

a holding cell for crinkled paper maps,

once-loved, but fruitless now, and

not because no one uses paper, anymore,

but because they don’t travel

like they used to, because

they haven’t touched bare

skin in over a decade or

leaned into each other’s ramblings

in twice as long, haven’t had a reason to

put the thing in park,

worry about the luggage tomorrow,

sink into the familiar front porch creak,

swipe mud-trodden boots across the well-worn mat

beckoning a warm, thick, welcome home.


Aubri Kaufman (she/her) is a poet and a mental health clinician from New Jersey. Some of her recent work is featured in Eunoia Review, The Daily Drunk, and Pink Plastic House. She can be found on Twitter at @aubrirose.

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