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  • Hannah Seo

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Updated: Jul 13, 2020

lineage. there’s no escaping tradition. histories drag behind me like so many beaded pearls. my name is your name is the name that knows me, commands me, medicates me, you see—


blood is not thicker than blood mixed with expectation and ether.


we are hooked [up] to this jubilant operation all these -ectomies,       self-ectomies ex(or)cisions                      in the name of survival in the      name of joy,       in the name      of virtue, of some tapestry of souls.


how do you      isolate a muscle, or a single woven thread. out of context, what is a daughter? [I do not

remember what it means to be birthed] so conjoined are we, the harmonized that I will tug on your heartstrings and       bring myself to weep.



This poem was originally published in Portland Review on June 9, 2020.

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