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Relics

By Todd Davis Poetry

Everyone in the family insists / the bones are ours. Nurses fuss and refuse at first, / / until we threaten a lawyer.

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Moth Light

By Julie Hensley Fiction

But it unfolded itself, and, like a long-held secret, its wings swelled wide enough to span her palm. Then she saw the color it had been keeping close: hind wings emblazoned with what shone like blue eyes, rimmed with gold and mounted on a concentric field of black.

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Hagiography

By Joan Houlihan Poetry

At three, I saw the shade of living light. / At eight, I was enclosed as an oblate. / The universe is an egg, I said, / and the nuns promoted me.

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