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My mother and I were alone the night / our house burned down. I was nine that summer, / and the smell of smoke clung to my clothes. / And after the fire a tree in the yard / grew crooked with scoliosis, its back bending / away from the remains of the house.
November 2023Has something we published moved you? Fired you up? Did we miss the mark? We’d love to hear about it.
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