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Carolina Ebeid

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Carolina Ebeid

Carolina Ebeid is the author of You Ask Me to Talk About the Interior (Noemi Press, 2016). She is pursuing a PhD in creative writing at the University of Denver and edits poetry at The Rumpus. She lives in Denver.

by this poet

One sentence held the echoes of a room without furniture. 
One narrowed like a corridor leading from the outside in. 

One sentence grew out of fashion with the disco-ball maker.
One was radial & wheeling, & the verb spun at the center. 

One forecasted an avalanche. One melted on the sand. 
One widened
chatter around town will be of blindness  

all ghosts will be Russian ghosts at parties 

				                           always the law here is to sing, 
                                                                believe me 

				                           no thought-bubble tarries
Love remains a kind of present tense. This is how we describe the scenes in photographs—as though the actions in them were still happening. My father is throwing a rock in this picture. My father keeps lions in his chest & they rip apart a gazelle in this picture.

A man throwing a rock; the image holds an