Fracture by Juanita Kirton
Aug24

Fracture by Juanita Kirton

  “Fracture” by Juanita Kirton   narrows of light rest on me feets’...

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My Country of Origin Is by Tandy Sturgeon Wolff
Aug24

My Country of Origin Is by Tandy Sturgeon Wolff

  “My Country of Origin Is” by Tandy Sturgeon Wolff   No country. Show me one and I will point out no line scratched in the earth, no fence as long as you say. So forget it. No one has one. The closest thing to a country is your body.You imagine a country of your own that is very old, but it’s not old enough, never enough to sing in your ears like birds do. And birds are still at this point, everywhere....

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Home by Kristen Ringman
Aug20

Home by Kristen Ringman

  “Home” by Kristen Ringman   I don’t feel home anywhere after losing it, after the shipwreck. We move from place to place. It feels better to move. It reminds me of the sea. I wake each day with disappointment I pretend can be cured with coffee or friends, with your small lips nursing my breasts, the way you ask for “yogurt and granola” every morning, without fail. Every day, by mid-day, I fail myself—I give in...

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Sculpture Under A Bridge by Debbie Hall
Aug20

Sculpture Under A Bridge by Debbie Hall

  “Sculpture Under A Bridge” by Debbie Hall                Buenos Aires, at a memorial for the “disappeared”              during the military dictatorship, 1976-1983   Each figure climbs atop the other up from the dust and dark. They reach through cracks in the road to pull travelers out of...

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Mooring the Boat to the Dock by Sarah Black
Aug20

Mooring the Boat to the Dock by Sarah Black

  “Mooring the Boat to the Dock” by Sarah Black   Anna Larina was the only audience to the final testament of her husband Nikolai Bukharin. Each morning after his death— Stalin let her live for the national asset of her beauty— she rose to recite her husband’s testimony. Through one decade in the Gulag and one in exile, through the birth of another man’s children, she held Nikolai’s heart in her mouth,...

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Where I Am Standing by Marsha Pincus
Aug20

Where I Am Standing by Marsha Pincus

  “Where I Am Standing” by Marsha Pincus   I am standing at the gates of Auschwitz peering up at the iron words Arbecht Mach Frei. I take my place among the school children and families of Europe in the ticket line. “Exhibits on your right, showers on your left,” the Polish tour guide says without a trace of irony. On the other side of the gate I am standing on a murderous Main Street in a genocidal Disneyland....

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Untitled [When have you ever heard a silent crowd?] by Monika Cooper
Aug20

Untitled [When have you ever heard a silent crowd?] by Monika Cooper

  “Untitled [When have you ever heard a silent crowd?]” by Monika Cooper   When have you ever heard a silent crowd? Without a word, they watched their schoolhouse burn But one man must have turned his wide-brimmed hat Over and over slowly in his hands. They go home silent. I remember when I wanted to be Amish, like in books, Or Mennonite, like one I saw, my age, Pushing a stroller, in a pioneer dress. The future...

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Smash Shop by Elizabeth Jacobson
Aug20

Smash Shop by Elizabeth Jacobson

  “Smash Shop” by Elizabeth Jacobson   From the bench above the pond I watch two ducks make dark channels in the water as they feed, pathways through a mosaic of cracked green ice. Behind me the rocks, strata of red igneous beneath ochre sandstone, are an unconformity— a geologic span— characterized by an immense amount of nothing between two calculable intervals of time. Nothing not meaning that something wasn’t...

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Like a Maelstrom with a Notch by Lois Marie Harrod
Aug20

Like a Maelstrom with a Notch by Lois Marie Harrod

  “Like a Maelstrom with a Notch” by Lois Marie Harrod                Emily Dickinson   And when the clothing factory collapsed in Dhaka, Bangladesh, one young seamstress was trapped in the Muslim prayer room which also stored boxes of skirts and shawls, shirts, sheers, socks and sequins, and for those in need, a few prayer cloths thrown over pipes...

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Good Stories by Esther Cohen
Aug20

Good Stories by Esther Cohen

  “Good Stories” by Esther Cohen   What is the same what is different? When I was a child I had a big bear funny bear a girl bear not a doll with yellow hair I talked to Miss Bear all day long told her stories long long stories. I didn’t know much about bears. I knew she was smiling at me.   Many of us listen for what we know, familiar sounds. Maybe this starts with lullabies, with words we hear every night,...

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