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I had left her sitting on the front stoop / and crossed the street / to light my cigarette—April / in the early evening, / the pear trees with their arms full / of white blossoms, comfortless as ghosts.
February 2024Without her glasses she couldn’t see, / so she’d touch her thumb to the bristles / of the two toothbrushes / to figure out which one I’d used, / then she would use the other.
July 2021Thursday, sad wet morning, / reading the Gospels on my way to work. / I’d been doing that all year: waiting for the bus / on the front stoop’s top step, / making my way to the same back seat
September 2020Has something we published moved you? Fired you up? Did we miss the mark? We’d love to hear about it.
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