This morning, I pulled on my wool socks Dug out of a box on the shelf, a hope in vain To hamper the damp Oregon chill, This ever-present, wet weight seeping in Through my open window.   I fitted each foot into a sock, A cloud of dust releasing from the heel, And I saw …

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In a piano bar one night   Winter I am reading Frank O’Hara in Moscow, thinking of his samovar embroidered with basil   leaves and Ukrainian mottos. He called that poem Poem, which makes me bold. I have a vodka drink   called the Raskolnikov in a piano bar one night, with Piano Man in …

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I am sitting in gravel by the largest pool of Steamboat. The glassy surface of the river moves slowly and it is the end of summer so traffic on the road above is infrequent and the whoosh of an occasional car is indistinguishable in the combing breeze. I am looking at the white scar on …

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When I was very young, my mother walked through the woods with my younger brother and me most afternoons. We shared a stroller, where I, at six years old, stuck my legs out on either side of my brother’s shoulders and reached for twigs, leaves, and daffodils as we briskly strolled beneath and among oaks, …

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1. Wild Turkeys They make their way through grasses roughly blown by the breeze, their sights set on the field beyond, their feathers glowing amber and brown, smoothed down as if by fingers. There you are, birds. There, there. Don’t you fret. Their eyes say they want things, or maybe something more, maybe that they …

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by Charlotte Matthews The girl doing my makeover floats between counters, pulling colors she promises will make me more myself. Her hands are expert and she is kind, but when it’s over I don’t know who it is I see. All I wanted was to be a kid again. At the pediatrician, when the doctor …

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[dropcap size=small]D[/dropcap]uring her two years of teaching English in Madrid, Devon Hughes — along with her students — struggled with language acquisition (in her case, Castillano). A former English major, tour guide, and aspiring writer, communication had been her “daily bread”, which later made asking and paying for her daily bread at a Spanish corner …

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by Caroline Parke wiggling inch born high up a dizzy haze of pirouetting pollen strands gave you form to match in your listless, swirling descent; a ribbon dancer, you silked you down slow from that breeze-haunted nursery, carried through clouds of tree sex, fluorescent with lust, one sticky band linking the branch of your birth …

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The End of Make-Believe Of course I had my doubts, but when no one was looking I’d pretend to be a tightrope walker, The Great Farini, crossing Niagara Falls with a man on my back. I used to tell strangers I was a boy and to prove it would skip rocks, make them soar exquisitely …

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All the People Who Have Been Kind to Me Let’s start with how my brother willingly put on a sunbonnet to be Mary in my own private version of Little House on the Prairie. One summer afternoon he even feigned losing sight to prove he’d been listening to what I said. That same year, after …

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[dropcap]A[/dropcap]fter Caroline Parke graduated from Magna Cum Laude from college what did she do with her summer? She sat down and wrote a startlingly nuanced collection of poems reflecting on love and loss. She not only managed, but gracefully succeeded, in finding words for the utterly ineffable gut-wrenches and heartswells that we, as humans on …

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