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By Amy Bornman Poetry

The first pregnancy: “my belly growing big, for what? / no one can tell me what’s going on. / nausea I don’t understand, weeping / for hormones with no name.

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By Susan Rich Poetry

We downed ginger beer and punch; drank / in our parents’ fear of standing out— / never Boston nor Brahmin enough.

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Dry Leaves Tumble Down University Circle

By Charles Marsh Essay

Still, the novels and histories of madness couldn’t hold a candle—well, maybe Plath could—to stories of the Complete Nervous Breakdown I’d heard throughout childhood. My grandmother always had a story about somebody she knew who’d broken down.

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The Party at Hart’s

By Robert Clark Essay

I think Hart wanted—he was nothing if not a man of magnificent and consuming desires—the wrong things, or things to which he was not quite entitled. I have wanted them too

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