Tag Archives: Elizabeth McMunn-Tetangco

The Border

You could walk across back then through a turnstile and you didn’t need a passport and one night this guy I knew carried a girl who was too drunk back in his arms because she said that her feet hurt. … Continue reading

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burning ceremony…

burning ceremony I forget to write your name Elizabeth McMunn-Tetangco lives in California’s Central Valley and co-edits One Sentence Poems. Her chapbooks, Various Lies, Lion Hunt, and Water Weight, are available from Finishing Line Press, Plan B Press, and Right … Continue reading

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beach fog…

beach fog just the shape of you walking away from me Elizabeth McMunn-Tetangco lives in California’s Central Valley, where she works as a librarian. She has two chapbooks in print, Various Lies, from Finishing Line Press, and Lion Hunt, from … Continue reading

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Mammoths

Maybe we aren’t meant to stay alive with our curlicues of oil our one-night-stands our flashing lights. By the dump close to my house, construction crews found mammoth bones— there is an art in the curved skulls, the curling femurs, … Continue reading

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Bighorns

In the time- lapse photos a green spread — the springtime resting on the world — and the trails your mother’s mothers knew, rocks shifting like sleepers. In another life my mother spent her summers on Cape Cod: oysters, sand … Continue reading

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Self-Portrait

On Star Trek, when they beamed people back up, there was a blue mist all around the beam-up-ees and the part over their hearts always went last. In junior high I wondered if, during the testing of the beam-thing, someone’s … Continue reading

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Beaver

A small beaver is the arrow point racing through creek water, and I follow him, jogging, on the path. He ducks away, his flat tail slicing clean through murk, leaving the drawing of a hole on the creek surface. Magic … Continue reading

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