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John Addiego teaches at an alternative school for migrant farm workers in Oregon’s Willamette Valley.
All month I thought of your body, / soft with its delicious baby flesh / and fragile with its hidden bulbs and bones, // and knew you would be torn. / I pulled your small shoulders / closer as the days passed, / and some nights felt the tumor / rise beneath my palm like a burl / in a redwood forest, / worrywart, skullcap / under the duff of your skin.
—from “The Operation”
June 1988Has something we published moved you? Fired you up? Did we miss the mark? We’d love to hear about it.
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