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Adriana Cloud

Birth Announcement

It arrived in the coal hours of the morning: 98 words each pink and darling, 12 lines, 6 tiny commas. The labor was hard and fitful, it lasted 31 years. Every poem takes all of your life to write. In place of an epidural there was wine, sour red mouthfuls and the threat of a cheap headache. It is brother to a drizzle of other poems, some of which use the word cinnamon, sister to rhymeless alphabets that are always trying to spell hunger. The mother is proud. It will be loved until the night buds another idea. ...

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Meg Pokrass

I get the love of the people who say Yeah to anything and everything

Changes are afloat and my sister is moody. The dog seems tentative and sad. There is no contest now, he gets the love. I get the love of the people who say Yeah to anything and everything. I get the love of the well-wishers and the Girl-scout who sells too many Mystic Mints. This is officially the last night I do any of it. I bend to kiss him and he says, oh once more. This caving home allows me to do what he wants, the walls don’t stop me.     ...

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Meg Pokrass

Trying

The door closed and we were away from your mother. She had gone to the store for butter which meant something worse. As you promised, we sampled rum, the stuff your uncle brewed. Froggy, spicy, dark; you said you liked what I liked… but in a sort of ironed-flat way. So then, I sampled you… you were lying down and I was taste-testing the world. This was confusing, and also not. I was younger than you, younger than this moment, but old enough to enjoy the accordion feel of a curled boy-body unfolding. “This is not it,” you said, “Try ...

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