I speak Creole to the mirror
a bayou has its own summer
I drop the needle on vinyl—it is pierced and out spins strange fruit
summer is the Eden of all mosquitoes—needles pointing at everyone
as if to name them through extracting blood

I make beignets from scratch
kill mosquitoes against my arm
if the naked dough goes as dark as elbow skin
there can be no quick rescue
I powder with sugar
in Creole I can’t remember the word only the accent
extracted as I bite down and name it all good

About the author:
Based in Baltimore, Steven Leyva has been writing, editing, and publishing poetry and fiction since 2008, while working on his Creative Writing and Publication Design M.F.A. from the University of Baltimore. Leyva holds a B.S. in Communication Arts, and his work has appeared in Welter magazine. Leyva is in love with handmade books, and can often be found binding pages, sewing signatures, and cutting covers for limited edition hard and soft cover books.

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