Latest Writing
POETRY
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LIE DOWN WHERE THEIR FACES ARE by James Allen Hall
The woman across the street on her knees again, shut out in the snow by her husband. Every week, this ritual: a man, a crying woman, the blue cold earth that marries them. When he lets her in, she lays in bed next to him.
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ANTIPHON FOR THE OFFICE OF THE DEAD by William Kelley Woolfitt
a powder box and swans-down puff her limp stocking, a green satin fan spangled with dragonflies, curling-tongs small muslin bags, a pumice stone bits of skin, cut-glass bottles, cuticle knife, a darner, nail powder, sealing wax spirals of her hair, glove buttoner orangewood stick, gauze balls, shoe lift velvet brush, rabbit’s foot, pots of rouge…
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DOLOROSA by Molly Rose Quinn
(The Chapel at St. Mary’s School for Girls) where the pillar falls at the edge of morning the teachers beg us to tug down our skirts they offer their palms for our gumballs and your god is here to say that beauty is easy like cutting teeth and your legs and your legs and yours…
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