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Poems
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Sestina for an Idiom
I was fifteen and all fights with my father ended
Sadaf Halai
Christmas Nineteen-Sixty-Something and Notes from My Doppelganger
By that time we were hanging the tree from a hook
Kurt Luchs
Magical Thinking
My dog does not question
Lisa Russ Spaar
Petrarch’s Poem 269, from Rerum vulgarium fragmenta, translated from Italian by Lee Harlin Bahan
The high column and the green laurel
Francesco Petrarca
Wraith
I never walk past that gate I don’t recall a rifle butt, two sharp yelps,
Davis McCombs
The Last Plume Poems
the year that is when Churchill begged
Stuart Friebert
My Friend, Nice Socks & The Last Dance
My friend wanted to have breakfast at the local strip club.
Peter Johnson
Visiting Gertrude Stein in Père-Lachaise
Her stone is not the largest.
Diane Louie
Waiting for Someone
Dark gray suit, dark green tie, dark
Matthew Thorburn
The Old Thoughts
Immersed, called forth—
Daniel Bourne
Poem by Zuzanna Ginczanka (1917-1945) translated from Polish by Alex Braslavsky
There’s now a so-so year for you: 1933—
Zuzanna Ginczanka
SHALL BEAR UPON HIS SHOULDER IN THE TWILIGHT
Reaching from history, that alpenglow, towards the dead whose clothes I wear
G.C. Waldrep
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