gravel.

Alabama

2/21/2017

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Picture
​Who cannot adopt
her queer children.
Who lives in a hooded
state, perpetual
swagger.
 
One staggers into
swift-shut doors,
history's face.
 
If blue lives matter
more, swear by
color. These uniforms.
You police.
 
The premise of law
is not order
              but justice.
Sea to shining
may be something.
 
I stare at your flags.
Those barred stripes,
prison chords,
incantatory twang
of plantation.
 
Look again.
What stars swear
is blurry--
             and vast. 



Picture
Alina Stefanescu was born in Romania and lives in Alabama with her partner and four small mammals. A Pushcart nominee, she is the author of 'Objects In Vases' (Anchor & Plume, March 2016), 'Letters to Arthur' (Beard of Bees, August 2016), and 'Ipokimen' (Anchor and Plume, November 2016). Her first fiction collection, Every Mask I Tried On, won the 2016 Brighthorse Books Prize. She can't wait for you to read it. Find out more about Alina here.  

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    About

    Gravel is a literary journal edited by students of the MFA program in creative writing at the University of Arkansas at Monticello.

    Cover image by T.M. Lankford
Photos used under Creative Commons from Bambi Corro, onnola, SebastianBartoschek, Hernan Piñera, comedy_nose, ComputerHotline, michaelmueller410, Alexandre Dulaunoy, Theme Park Tourist, quinet, roseannadana: Back on my home turf, grits2go, Arian Zwegers, quinn.anya, MikeSpeaks, Kim Gunnarsson, p.langerz