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Academic Journals
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From:Prairie Schooner (Vol. 95, Issue 2)All the grieving sounds in public malls and on the cracked sidewalks where weeds freeze now plastic wrappers fly by Who has the time to petition the government to reclaim its humanity The beloveds in any household are...
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From:Prairie Schooner (Vol. 95, Issue 2)When we left, everything was normal, as likely as not escaping what captivity love is in a knot. Sunrise eyes won't ever meet. Everything may be math, but not everything can be accomplished from the shore. No one will...
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From:Prairie Schooner (Vol. 95, Issue 2)One day the daughter who pays attention witnesses the worst thing. The next day a small amount more. The father no longer looks at her. He looks at the heater; he pushes up and down triangles. The heater gurgles a...
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From:Prairie Schooner (Vol. 95, Issue 2)The king was shaken; he went up to the upper part of the gate and wept , and thus he said as he went: My son Avshalom , my son, my son Avshalom! Who will grant my dying, myself, in your place? Avshalom, my son, my son ....
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From:Prairie Schooner (Vol. 95, Issue 2)Looks like a power drill, space-alien ray gun--black with a neon-blue circle on the grip panel. Triangular handle. It's useless for bank robbing, for muggings, for crimes of passion, unless you count my spine's...
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From:Prairie Schooner (Vol. 95, Issue 2)John Lacher, 1928-2010 Heavier than you'd think if you think of ashes, a man's worth tucked in a box now passed from one relation to the next as we scatter what remains on Puget Sound, though "scatter" is too light a...
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From:Prairie Schooner (Vol. 95, Issue 2)You are passing every one of my bones through your mouth until you find the one that will make you invisible...
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From:Prairie Schooner (Vol. 95, Issue 2)for Matthew Porto Too much in love to wed, you stepped on two glasses wrapped in a napkin and climbed atop chairs to dance. Now you try to be silent, to tune your radio to outer space in case her signal filters in like...
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From:Prairie Schooner (Vol. 95, Issue 2)Sometimes I blink and feel my papaw blink from my face. He gave me his wavy hair, his blond eyelashes crooked as the state of Mississippi. I didn't realize the curse could be passed on: genetically inward-growing...
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From:Prairie Schooner (Vol. 95, Issue 2)The leaves of the trees expended like the last breath of a seabird careening for a final plunge. The air of the sea a reminder of the easy days before the belabored pull from deep inside before a sickness made from time...
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From:Prairie Schooner (Vol. 95, Issue 2)Isabelle had been dead for six months before I read her obituary on Twitter. Six weeks later, I still wasn't sleeping well, so Dave suggested I try a cleanse. Juice/herbs/kelp/whatever. I told Dave what I thought of it,...
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From:Prairie Schooner (Vol. 95, Issue 2)I haven't heard a word from my little brother in five months. This fact hits me when I punch in to work and see today's date: May 22nd, 2018. I've been worried sick. Out of all three years he's been in prison, this is...
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From:Prairie Schooner (Vol. 95, Issue 2)The rough ends of a cut grass floating in an uneven sky. The sun is a dim-lit fire extinguishing the peaks of the day. As the black begins to enter the cracks of the city men face down their ghosts in corridors made for...
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From:Prairie Schooner (Vol. 95, Issue 2)Although the alarm hadn't gone off, he woke up at 6:30 AM. A strange energy moved through the room on this spring morning. Its blue-like shadow reflected off the walls, off the furniture. The old seventy-something man...
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From:Prairie Schooner (Vol. 95, Issue 2)We were walking along the cliff-edge trail where, above, the planetarium squinted into smog, the smog which smelled, even there, of car exhaust but which you said you liked to think was really a collection of...
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From:Prairie Schooner (Vol. 95, Issue 2)I study what is near: turkey mulch, straight line, brick path. Nothing but meadows. So be it: a day stripped to unlatching hours. Worn to slick heat. Everyone ate their cubed potatoes and left-- toward the mountains,...
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From:Prairie Schooner (Vol. 95, Issue 2)How does one go/ about dying? /Who on earth / is going to teach me FRANZ WRIGHT I find a possum playing dead in the garage and it seems a good time to reevaluate my mortality. Death is a marsupial trick. The path to...
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From:Prairie Schooner (Vol. 95, Issue 2)Nothing from this moment can be complete a grain in the field of want. A bird sings only to know her song to feel the weight of a branch vibrating beneath her claws. Isis gathered the bones of her murdered brother and...
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From:Prairie Schooner (Vol. 95, Issue 2)Michael Kleber-Diggs. Worldly Things . Milkweed Editions. Michael Kleber-Diggs is a Kansas Jayhawk turned Minnesota Gopher. He's also a law college graduate turned poet. Having spent many years in the corporate world,...
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From:Prairie Schooner (Vol. 95, Issue 2)Fifth year after my return, she vows I'll never go husband-less. This as she drives the rat from our grill so he will not char. Yanks all Self-heal run through the yard; sits behind her own on his bed, wrist colon-deep...