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The buildings stand abandoned, tilt
at right angles, shifting sand dunes
slow waves for dead boats.

Satellite picture number one: flames flicker
in empty windows. People must still be alive here,
fighting for some sort of piss-poor survival.










Satellite picture number two:
A group of men sit around a
fire. The tattoo craze has gone so
far that bare skin is the status
symbol now. The primitives flaunt
Harley buckles and beer can hats,
new holy relics in a pile
beside them: crumpled photographs
of refrigerators filled with
condiments, needlepoint samplers,
censers, silver candlesticks, and
life-sized oil paintings of Jesus.

By Holly Day     |    Feature image by Kristin Soh



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Holly Day

Holly Day has taught writing classes at the Loft Literary Center in Minneapolis, Minnesota, since 2000. Her poetry has recently appeared in Tampa Review, SLAB, and Gargoyle, and her published books include Walking Twin Cities, Music Theory for Dummies, and Ugly Girl.