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Lemon by Robin Littell
It was her fourth birthday without Ted, and she was getting better at forgetting him. She planned not to pick up. She planned to be busy. The three previous conversations had gone like this: “I got you a present. It’s something...
Read MoreThe Glass, Martha by Ethan Tinkler
It hadn’t stopped raining since Roger and Martha moved into the new house. Days. Weeks. It didn’t matter in the endless dark. Pans in the attic overflowed into the insulation and ceilings. Brown-ringed stains blossomed on the...
Read MoreA Corvid Villanelle by Deborah Ketai
The third murder of crows this morning, silhouettes flat black against the sky, caws their old men’s argument outside my screen, stacking in the maples, pecking for position. I watch with no idea why this third murder of crows...
Read MoreOut of joint by Deborah Ketai
Not the foundation, but foundational, who’d have thought they’d be the first to go? Tendons ruptured, the result of congenitally flat feet, which make communion with the ground, closer than most people enjoy, not even space to...
Read MoreWhat We Wore to the Dance by Deborah Ketai
We rose from the promenade. The first silk dappled. By boxed freight, we made our way in the world practically weightless, fabric tormenting the desires of men and women alike for smooth and youth. I remember an almost sheer...
Read MoreThe Iris with Its Furry Tongue by Lois Marie Harrod
and thick yellow throat began to speak. Where is the umbrella to shade me from the sun? Where is the smoke to make me weep? I have lost the box in which I kept my gloves. There is a rift between me and my sword. In the sick room...
Read MoreThe Frugal Cook by Lois Marie Harrod
Her art: to be consumed. Or unconsumed, transfigured. What’s cast aside became cornerstone: corn—steamed then creamed, curried and casseroled— made its rakish progress through meadows of wild sage and chicory to consummation....
Read MoreGalileo’s Index by Lois Marie Harrod
Not what you think, a list of stars and weights, but his finger in a glass egg at the Museum of Science and Industry in Padua, that city which Shakespeare singled out like a nun. The index raised as it might have been in life...
Read MoreCeres Breakfasts with the Birds by Lois Marie Harrod
She supposed the curtains were gray to remind her of loss and the teapot white to remind her of rain, but it had snowed, and now she could see the birds depended on her to lay out the...
Read MoreBeside the Map of the World, the Map of Her Body by Lois Marie Harrod
Africa the skull, homo afarensis, her dark foot laid across the soft mud, clean as a star and now such confusion of countries, who spoke English? She had no names for the cells in her pancreas, each becoming a little city? The...
Read MoreWhat Ideas Feel Like by John O’Dell
Poems are what ideas feel like. Karl Shapiro Some blister the mind like an endless afternoon of August heat, others own the chaste clarity of winter sunsets distilled through naked birch. Some, tense as crossbows in siege, fly...
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