Reprieve
By Poetry Issue 115
Hey oldhead, a voice called out, you want to go?
No, thank you, I said and raised my hand as if he’d asked me
to sign a petition.
Reprieve
By Poetry Issue 115
When I fought Ryan in the cafeteria I only hit him
three times before Mr. Coleman grabbed my shoulder
and pushed me against the wall.
Read MoreHive Boxes
By Poetry Issue 77
Walking the baby at noon along our vacation road I turned toward a lit hum animating old oaks ryegrass salvia thistle wild distance folding six white boxes’ uncountable pale thoughts measuring the air our foreign bodies nearly colliding but clearer, wouldn’t— not mine, hum I heard only when the baby slept against me. I was…
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