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POETRY
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THE SUPERINTENDENT by Justin Bigos
The air as still as bathwater, no breeze from Sheepshead, we carry clear plastic bags of empty bottles and cans, blue plastic bags of plastic bottles and milk jugs, we squeeze flattened boxes into open boxes, then tie it all in twine – but do we cover it in tarp in case it rains? He…
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DEVIL DANCER’S DAUGHTER by Laura Sheahen
What does your father do Dance Where in the jungle The jungle When In the night With feathers sharp feathers
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AFTER SAMSON BURNS HER FAMILY’S HOUSE AND GRAIN-FIELDS by William Kelley Woolfitt
Two ruined bodies, galena-black, tar-black, charred flakes of cloth, countenances gone. No ears, or eyes, or lips. Father, sister, offered to a god, fat and gorged, that I deplore; hands folded at the breastbone, as if fire was a balm that soothed, gave them repose; no hair to dress, no skin to wash and stroke.
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