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Sandra McPherson
The number of communal legs alone exceeds the stars underground.

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Yuki Tanaka
When she put the petals of a hydrangea on my eyelids, I heard rain pattering behind them

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Arielle Hebert
Who can blame them for believing what they saw? Bodies holding each other in the night, against the darkness.

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Mikael Johani
chapell hill hasnt got its own passaic look at its spine:

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Grace Schulman
That night the wind-chapped table shouted, new peaches, bread, still warm, and consecrated by watery breezes on the shore

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Rob Macaisa Colgate
The vinyl sling creaks, sings, and for a moment, above her powerchair, she levitates, which is usually magical, but today she is only pissing.

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One Poetry Daily that struck a resonant chord was May 31, 2024’s "Sad Rollercoaster" by Jared Harél. The poem chronicles the summer in which his daughter came to understand Death. In second grade, I wrote a dirge contemplating the black void of nothingness. This prompted a meeting with my teacher, parents, and principal. I explained the poem as an attempt to wrap my head around the notion of Death, rather than as a call for help. The second-grade mind is hard to decipher, and the bleak existential tone didn’t help. Now, as both a parent and an educator, I appreciate the additional check into authorial intent. Teaching high school kids sometimes elicits flights of fancy that raise eyebrows and might be a similar cause for concern. Yet the poet in me understands the need to explore thought into poetry with no regrets too. Harél’s poem awakened these vivid memories and relevant thoughts.

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Jared Harél
My daughter is in the kitchen, working out death.

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Doireann Ní Ghríofa
moonlit fern-fingers beckon to where the valley winks

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God

Christian J. Collier
Maybe there are a number of Gods to wade through before falling at the feet of the last true one

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