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olga mikolaivna
I hold your name. My patronymic. It holds me.

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James Longenbach
Shortly before I died, Or possibly after, I moved to a small village by the sea.

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On October 13, at the celebration of Jim’s life and work, at the Stonington Free Library, Joanna Scott told the packed reading room that shortly after Jim started treatment for cancer he wrote to her that he hated the idea of bucket lists but he nevertheless had some everyday things he wanted to do: “Eat a little flat pizza.  Get in the car.  Take a shower without worrying.  Enjoy the water … Have one martini … Feel on the other side of treatment.  Read a book. Discover something in someone’s sentences that I haven’t before.  Think out loud about what it is that I so love about sentences, about syntax, the simple beauty of grammar … Have dinner at the little bistro in Soho, just you and me …”  I enthusiastically recommend James Longenbach’s posthumous book, Seafarer (published recently by W. W. Norton).  In our precarious world, it is full of astonishing poems.  I trust a few will last forever.

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Saúl Hernández
When a winter storm hit Texas, the bluebonnet field sounded like glass.

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Margaret Ross
I smelled the corpses on my fingers when I took my smoke break

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DeeSoul Carson
A visual poem by DeeSoul Carson

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Rick Barot
You are told to believe in one paradise and then there is the paradise you come to know.

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Mira Rosenthal
I never even slap the man, just turn & glare & pry his fingers from my flesh

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Maria Zoccola
i didn't know i was a person until i stopped being one.

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Jennifer Chang
We did not want to get closer but let history hiss at our backs

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