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Read more: That Afternoon on Inis Meáin
by M F Drummy Fragments, sand,glass: a picturewindow. Eyes closed,we gaze out acrossthe limestonewasteland, wavescrashing nearby,seasprayon our faces,rain shellsflappingin the breeze,the role ofemptinessin our livesnow mademanifest,sheep grazingon the hillside,wind turbineswhirring,clouds low,sunlight filteringthrough, youremove your sunglasses—your lustrouseyes—and, takingmy hand in ourmiddle age, sayIf this, my dear,were to be ourlast best dream…If it wereto be. Ifit were.…
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Read more: Ocean District Redevelopment Plan
by Ben Nardolilli To save our world, the exotic will have to come closer,With every imaginable form of beach Brought to our shores, so that we might wander locallyThrough the Caribbean, in sight of the Mediterranean,Then onward to the Polynesian, and finally the Arctic,Content with plastic palms and penguins,Sipping margaritas one moment, and eating tapas…
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Read more: Time of Desolation
by Cliff Saunders after William GassThe lovely countryside was filled with suicides.They drowned themselves in rain barrels.They ate the heads off matches. They became hermits.Shack-wacky, their large eyes like dials,the women relied on patent medicines and madness.O Mary Sweeney, you compulsive window-breaker!Even the dogs were docile, cow-jawed, stiffas porcelain, with nothing in front of thembut…
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Read more: Hair Clip
by Nancy Byrne Iannucci I found my hair clip under the red armchair.It felt cold in my hand living in that darkunderworld, like an old womanwho rocks to the tick of a clock,waiting for that visit, for that warm touch,for that chance to weave an angel’s hairbetween her weathered fingers,to hear that sweet chipmunksound, thank…
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Read more: The Fire Flickers With Doubt
by Edward Lee We light firesin the ruins of ourselves,gather our cold limbsaround their smoky warmth,our lungs burningas we take deep breathsand attempt to understandwhy we are ruinsand how we came to beinside what remainsof our dreams. Edward Lee’s poetry, short stories, non-fiction, and photography have been published in magazines in Ireland, England, and the…
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Read more: Come and Go
by Frederick Pollack He referred to his miraclesas tricks. His favorite was,in a brilliant lovely female voice,to say the most heartening thingimaginable—it made you cry;then with a wagging monitory fingermake you hear it again and seethe speaker—an angel;something venomous; back. His substantive message was that he hadno power. Power belongs to God,who contains and therefore…
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