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TWO POEMS by Jennifer Givhan

NOCTURNE

Then I remembered: Mama wasn’t gone
but safe, in her bed, turning in sleep. It was I

who went away—from Chopin in the bones,
palms heavy with dates like dark

purple fingers reaching toward sand, toward fruit
sickly sweet…

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WATER AND ISLAND by Jennifer Sperry Steinorth

pressed between blue pages a few hours

on our old boat which is not ours my leg

over the bow you in the stern with the kids

in the stern I’m reading poems you’re not

the sky a depression of noon wilting

on our way back from the island we did not

reach…

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FOUR POEMS by Christopher Kempf

SLEDDING AT HARDING MEMORIAL

It was how humans, the future
will say, entertained
themselves those last centuries
winter existed. Cribs
of dogwood racked
in the side yard. Jarred
fruit. Fat
in our snowsuits, my sister
& I climbed
the huge steps & pressed
our faces to the gate’s
wrought bars.

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YELLOWED by Steven D. Schroeder

The shade we named sidewinder
fang hung on a signpost
at the main-gate lookout tower—
another, tree die-off, we newsprinted
into leaflets about how far
until the next water supply.
None on spyglass lenses could filter
the color of a highway…

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TWO POEMS by Airea D. Matthews

SEXTON TEXTS ON INDEPENDENCE DAY
Sat. July 3, 8:14 am
(1/2) Because there was no other place
I went home
away from the scene of crazy-making senses
came back before dawn
in heavy July

Sat. July 3, 8:15 am
(2/2) my purse wide, thighs wet
keys set down
bedroom bound
where one child also sleeps.

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FAILURE by Glen Pourciau

Pourciau

I’d been holed up with a new project, and it seemed time to get out and breathe some fresh air and talk to people, an outcome that the solitary nature of my work sometimes led me to desire…

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TWO POEMS by Corey Van Landingham

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

VIEW POINT, SAN ANDREAS FAULT

From here, I see the up-thrust of collision,
how the Indio Hills have changed

through time. In a year, the sign says…

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WHEN I DIED BY FIRE by Scott Beal

800px-Fire-damaged_wall

my children knew I was the kind of fool
who could drop a spark on my coat
and wear it burning into the house,
fold it over a chair and go on reading
as smoke filled the apartment…

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TWO AMERICAS, TWO POETICS by Kate DeBolt

79 ny. Saltstrømmen. Stereoskop.

On November 24, 2014, my Facebook News Feed forked: all at once I was reading two wholly different kinds of perspective, like dispatches from parallel dimensions. I remember because I was laid up for days with a fever-dream flu…

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LINE DRAWINGS by Weston Cutter

Aagaard-martin-1863-1913-norwa-setting-sail-from-the-fjords-a

dear salt dear water scribbling difference between where
I can dryly stand+not dear sea dear shell dear Florida
from your panhandle I’m staring past seagulls flit
+scurrying across sand…

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STEPHANIE SAYS by Alain Douglas Park

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

A woman stands alone in the surf. She’s up to her mid-thighs in the water, warm Gulf of Mexico water, and she can feel the strong undertow of the sea. It pulls her legs and sucks the sand from under her feet. It’s tremendous—this undertow—a force of nature—powerful. But, she’s determined to stand in it. So, she does.

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ORIGIN OF GLASS by Marcelo Hernandez Castillo

Castillo

 it is winter again as we feel our way through
a bed of glass in the river
     we’ve been here before
     everything’s the same
     still the morning
still the pieces of glass
 we pile in the image of a child and praise…

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