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Jorie Graham's P L A C E takes the reader on a tour of places interior and exterior, of historical and personal meaning...
The Lighthouse is a melancholy story of a middle aged man Futh, who goes on a walking holiday to Germany after his wife ...
Girrl begins with a growl. The double “rr” lets you know you’re in for something.
Me and Dorothy Day meet for coffee and watery soup at a downtown five-and-dime lunch counter. Me, a cub reporter; she, a...
my heart is open country now low sky on a flat plain a lone horse splits its hoof on a stone hobbles off * mountains hol...
Because desperate men fight always to control something— this time it is ma’a, the water as it disappears— this gi...
Father and I were skipping stones when I was five. I missed the pond, hit him in the ear with a big rock. It hurt. He la...
The city was beautiful. Red roofs, tall church towers and scattered metal constructions the communists had left behind w...
Short story, "A Perfect Family House" by MaryAnne Kolton: "At nine o’clock, she gave Lyssa, her eleven-month...
Lourdes Acevedo writes a tribute poem for ruth weiss. Lourdes first read her poem at The Poetry Festival in San Francisc...
Ufudu is restless today, says a boy under his breath. He rinses a sable brush in a jar of water. Ufudu indeed! grumble t...
I held it in my hand, gender unknown The blood sticky and warm Taking repose, inside the crease, of my lifeline, The rus...
It is midday and she reads on the bed. Her curves are clothed, she lies on her stomach: Copper strands strewn over a bla...
The walls around me They hover Menacingly Coming closer From all sides Joining hands Together They weigh me down Constri...