Month: December 2018

105: Personal Effects by Solmaz Sharif


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I place a photograph of my uncle on my computer desktop, which means I learn to ignore it. He stands by a tank, helmet tilting to his right, bootlaces tightened as if stitching together a wound. Alive the hand brings up a cigarette we won’t see him taste. Last night I smoked one on the

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104: Good Bones by Maggie Smith


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Life is short, though I keep this from my children. Life is short, and I’ve shortened mine in a thousand delicious, ill-advised ways, a thousand deliciously ill-advised ways I’ll keep from my children. The world is at least fifty percent terrible, and that’s a conservative estimate, though I keep this from my children. For every

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103: Lapse by Dorianne Laux


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I am not deceived, I do not think it is still summer. I see the leaves turning on their stems. I am not oblivious to the sun as it lowers on its stem, not fooled by the clock holding off, not deceived by the weight of its tired hands holding forth. I do not think

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102: Certain Things by David Brendan Hopes


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For the sake of my father, certain things must be done in a certain way: tightening of bolts, of nuts around threads; coiling of hoses; firm, instant replacement of lids; spreading of seed from the hand held just so, in furrows dug to the joint or the knuckle, depending; wash it when you use it,

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