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Jane Kenyon
I turn on the radio. Wrong. Let's not have any noise in this room, except the sound of a voice reading a poem.

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Graywolf Press

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Reginald Shepherd
You’re walking down the street alone, absorbed in the anticipation of a lunchtime salad with that crusty olive bread you like so much, and suddenly you’re marching in formation in a crowd, it’s called a regiment. You seem to be a soldier this time, you learn to be at war.

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Persea Books

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Gaius Valerius Catullus (translated from the Latin by A.J. Woodman)
I left there fired, Licinius, by so much of your charm and wit that in my wretched state no food agreed with me, no sleep at night would close my eyes, but, uncontrolled in frenzy, on my bed I tossed and turned, craving a sight of dawn to speak and be with you again.

journal

Ancient Exchanges

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Choi Seungja (translated from the Korean by Won-Chung Kim & Cathy Park Hong)
Nobody raised me. I was nothing from the beginning, sleeping in a rat’s hole, nibbling on the flea’s liver, dying absentmindedly, in any old place.

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Action Books

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Samuel Amadon
Having to be so without having to be so, I take my seat at the bar. It's my manner. I'm willful. Absent. Crisp. And cold. I know where to point my eyes when speaking, when listening, when the check arrives. I'm having lunch today because I'm pretty civilized.

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Solid Objects

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Barbara Jane Reyes

They will say, your language lacks finesse, your words low. They will form air quotes with their white fingers, say something clever about color. They will corral you into their lowness, as you sully their well-lit high poetic annals. With your darkness.

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BOA Editions

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Alexander Vvedensky (translated from the Russian by Matvei Yankelevich)
I find it hard to be with minutes, they have completely confused me. It really upsets me terribly that I can be seen in reality. And then there’s this grudge that I bear, that I’m not a rug, nor a hydrangea.

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New York Review Books

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Elana Bell
I don’t know when I noticed the pale pink shoots sprouting from the submerged ends: wild, reaching roots, like ginseng, or the hair on an old woman’s chin. Then tiny green leaves began to appear at the tips, curling over themselves with the sheer effort of growing.

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BOA Editions

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Yalie Kamara
While sipping coffee in my mother’s Toyota, we hear the birdcall of two teenage boys in the parking lot: Aiight, one says, Besaydoo, the other returns, as they reach for each other. Their cupped handshake pops like the first, fat, firecrackers of summer

journal

The Adroit Journal

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Éireann Lorsung
The nation contains intrinsic defects. Something has been sending out messages at the rate of decay. This varies. Because nò bòdy does nòt respond to radiation. It is concentrated on those who witnessed the explosions, and in the soil.

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Milkweed Editions

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