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Recorded for Poem-a-Day, February 22, 2017.
About this Poem 

“I found ‘Migration’ on my phone on the morning of November 15, 2016. I had written it in the middle of the night after a fugue dream in which I was a migrant, a bird, and a soul divesting herself of worldly properties, including my name.”
—Ana Božičević

Migration

I never want to get any
More new things.
I wanna wear out these shoes white
And walk on the rug till it's perfectly
Colorless
To wear the shoes dark
Walking on an abyss that's been worn out
The shoes carry me,
I can’t help it,
I fly above the desert with no name

Copyright © 2017 by Ana Božičević. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on February 22, 2017, by the Academy of American Poets.

Copyright © 2017 by Ana Božičević. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on February 22, 2017, by the Academy of American Poets.

Ana Božičević

Ana Božičević

Ana Božičević is the author of Rise in the Fall (Birds, LLC, 2013) and Stars of the Night Commute (Tarpaulin Sky Press, 2009).

by this poet

poem
I woke up real early to write about death (the lake through the trees) from
the angle of the angel. There's the kind of angel that when I say
Someone please push me out of the way
Of this bad poem like it was a bus.—well, it comes running &
tackles me and oh, it's divine football—Or
in the dream when
poem
Skinny dirt road
In the middle of the ocean.
That led to the house of art.
I took it. The engine nearly
Drowned. I lied that it was fun
That I'd do it again. When I got to
That shore
The house was gone and when
I looked back, so was the path.
Now I'm old. Drown in my bed
A thousand miles inland.
For years I