Tag: Four Way Review
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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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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
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LOOKING THROUGH A TELESCOPE AT THE MOON ON THE DAY NEIL ARMSTRONG DIED
by Raena Shiraliwe locate apollo’s landing site on a map that shows there are two sides to everything & one is always dark, maria, unfathomable ocean. the dome above is cracked
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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
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THE SAW by James Allen Hall
Galeria Hermandad, Toledo A hand made this, hammered flat a hot length of iron, cut one side jagged, a row of teeth. The criminal would be hoisted up, tied inverted, the saw at his scrotum. The act required two men
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THE KING OF LOWMANSVILLE by Christopher Prewitt
Peasant stars hanged from wires above their king, my brother, sleeping in his crib. Out of silver trim and a nail gun, the church made for him a crown of thorns
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SOMETHING HE DID by Jennifer Whitaker
On a day cold enough to remind him of home, my father, whisky-warm, dragged from the shed the kerosene heater, sending the mangy dogs to the fence line. The overfilled tank, the choke
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IN THE CAPITAL by Michael Bazzett
It is a hillside town: houses stacked like pottery on shelves. From the window you see two schoolgirls walking uphill holding books to their chests, white socks drooping in the heat. The man painting the water tank of a building across the valley has descended to the shade to eat his lunch.
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RADIO TRANSMISSIONS IN MORSE CODE (m+46) by P.J. Williams
Origin: 37° 50′ 53.3436” N, 85° 28′ 1.5744” W What harmony / each body a score of bones / Dawn music solemn / shapes re-form / Each sea & its eroded shore / Patience
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RADIO TRANSMISSIONS IN MORSE CODE by P.J. Williams
Origin: 39° 25′ 1.992” N, 84° 55′ 40.0074” W Have found shelter in questions / at the cross of tongues / prophets hissing out another shallow monster / My own flattened mouth /
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RADIO TRANSMISSIONS IN MORSE CODE (m+39) by P.J. Williams
Origin: 30° 55′ 28.1634” N, 85° 44′ 19.9818” W I’m trying to say Hell is untied & empty / My stomach again a carcass in place of prayer / Each new fire is salt /