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Poems
Contributors
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Archive
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The Poets and Translators Speak
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Interviews
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Station To Station
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Index
My Father Was a Honey Bee
My father was a honey bee He buzzed and buzzed
Jan Freeman
The Afterlife of Breath
My father dead on the gurney
Stewart Moss
Wooden Boards
My father carefully rolls his pant leg up, places his leg between two wide boards. He tells my mother to jump hard on
Dzvinia Orlowsky
ALL THE BOYS
my face is old now
Denise Duhamel
Magical Thinking
My dog does not question
Lisa Russ Spaar
Reading Heidegger Brings a Wild Joy
My discovery of your essential thingness
Rebecca Foust
CALLING BACK | CHARITY
My daughter sings in snow falling through the scent of red oak or ash, some of the flakes large enough to contain passages from Emily Dickinson’s letters.
Steven Cramer
One of a Series
My daughter sees the sky from another angle, slate-blue reflected in a lake called living.
Joni Wallace
My Courbet, by Jonathan Galassi
My Courbet
Jonathan Galassi
Elegy & Brooklyn, 1957
My brother told me we would join the Wide
Floyd Skloot
A Controlled Substance
My brother is late again, somehow the glass
Brendan Constantine
Three Poems
Mud to your waist. Beside you, six men probing with broken
Lis Sanchez
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