Three Poems

If you asked, Io would say that first winter, with its crows,lumped clouds, sifting snow, frantic finches, and its jaywho screamed thief, thief as the glazed saplings fellalong the buckled asphalt, seemed never ending. In that far, far country, the sky stretched to the color of wet steel,water pooled in cows’ tracks, and footstepsechoed across…

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The Wife of Abel Grace

I loved him. You need to understand that. We all loved him. We were created to love him. Whoever that him might be. “You can be anyone you want,” he promised when he first opened my eyes. “You can be someone fierce or kind, quiet or proud. Just want it.”His was the first face I…

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Artifact: A.D.2020

I noticed the infection several weeks into the dig, when I began to hobble around the excavation site with a limp. I had stepped on a sharp shell at Playa Arguello, shoving a foot through the water to splash a visiting specialist on the Cabécar. That day, when it began, I was nauseous and then…

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Leave

“Leave.”Scott didn’t shout. The word wasn’t spoken with any real force. He’d expected it to sound hateful, but it didn’t. It was more of a simple demand, or perhaps a statement of fact. Like telling Alex it’s time for bed or adding an item to a list of groceries Anne was picking up.He reached into…

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“Double-Life Diary”

Friday6pm. Arsenic hour.Nit combs, home-readers, sight-words,permission-notes, show-and-tells.Toilet-roll tubes and tape. Sly-replies. Click-to-register.She will coach their team for the first season,source satin ribbons in jewel colorsfor girl-of-the-game, youtube the rules. Tonight. She will bleach the sink and pots.Or write a poem. She will have the second square of chocolateand a glass of Sancerre, but abstainfrom all…

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The Ripples of History: An Author Feature with Yaa Gyasi

Yaa Gyasi’s debut novel, Homegoing, opens three hundred years ago, in a small village in Ghana. As a mother screams her first child from her body, flames erupt in the woods, ravaging the countryside. With it, the fire carries the first ripples of change, not just for the newborn baby girl, but for another daughter,…

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Flame

A Lyric Novella, An Excerpt VII. Looking Glass iHe’s been halfway around the Lake Superior. Mapped paths across ice from islands to shore and across bays. One crystal clear night, he camped on a tiny, perfectly round frozen lake. An experiment. After that night, he called camping on a frozen lake ‘traveling light.’ Slept on…

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A Better Place

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Worth Its Weight

Ike’s mom said nine years old was too young; he did not yet know that a dog’s more work than it’s worth. “You had a dog,” he told her; he’d seen the shots of her when she was just as young with her old pug in her lap.“I did,” she said as she tapped the…

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The World As We Write It

WriteGirl, a Los Angeles-based creative writing and mentoring organization for teens, spotlights the power of a girl and her pen. Celebrating its 15th season, WriteGirl was recognized by Michelle Obama with the 2013 National Arts and Humanities Youth Program Award for its success in inspiring thousands of at-risk teens to enroll in college. WriteGirl Core…

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Ortolan

At first mention of the word, many will recall: a Turin shroud of white linen; alembic fumes of brandied fat; flesh that gives like honeysuckle; ribs crackling between silver fillings; an ejaculation of ambrosia from a minute and bursting heart. Not Albert. What springs most vividly to his mind is the darkness. Or perhaps half-light…

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Holding Still

I don’t believe him when he says it won’t hurt and that I just need to hold still. My face feels tight from all the kicking and screaming and crying I’ve done. I finally relented when I saw it was no use.The man ducks under his black cape, so I stare into the box. It…

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