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- 1From:The Midwest Quarterly (Vol. 62, Issue 4) Peer-ReviewedWhen you knew night was coming and not by the numerals on your watch, not by some tick tock time step you danced like a marionette. No, you knew night was coming by the bubbles starting up in the air, the sniff of...
- 2From:The Midwest Quarterly (Vol. 62, Issue 4) Peer-ReviewedOne cloudless Minneapolis month, I shuffled like a shared child between its Marriott and your hospital. Each day the backs of my knees sweat first into the waiting-room chair, then later over the hotel bed's edge. I...
- 3From:The Midwest Quarterly (Vol. 62, Issue 4) Peer-ReviewedThe applicant detests parties of all kinds but thinks no one has fun unless she's there. When she arrives, she often finds herself talking to just one person for too long. When her house sleeps, the applicant stands in...
- 4From:The Midwest Quarterly (Vol. 62, Issue 4) Peer-ReviewedRather than let blood from labia, inner arm or thigh--ritual separation of skin--let me become plainly, as a story: A girl and a man. This story has never been told. This story is told every day. Woman knows the story...
- 5From:The Midwest Quarterly (Vol. 62, Issue 4) Peer-ReviewedCaryn Mirriam-Goldberg appeared in How Time Moves: New and Selected Poems Let the body elongate each breath and dream. What's hurting has its own low notes. Let the heat exhale, the chill encompass. Let come the...
- 6From:The Midwest Quarterly (Vol. 62, Issue 4) Peer-Reviewed1. Sometimes I sit for hours dreaming of crows. 2. There are days when the snow turns everything into some other thing. 3. I want to ask them, the crows I mean, what they've left behind. 4. I wait for them to color...
- 7From:The Midwest Quarterly (Vol. 62, Issue 4) Peer-ReviewedAnd as the amaranth begins, in every living summer, To open itself again into time, time which borders The hands we use to pull weeds, or to pull A lucky bucket up, wondering water, thou clear Spirit, thou unsettling...
- 8From:The Midwest Quarterly (Vol. 62, Issue 4) Peer-Reviewedcloud shift and the moon crashes into the bedroom like thunder waking us both cloud shift and a catscratch moonlight sliver lingers, then purls its thin brilliance into our cast off covers the silence of golden distance...
- 9From:The Midwest Quarterly (Vol. 62, Issue 4) Peer-Reviewedafter Victoria Chang Pests--died my whole life as needed. I was taught to kill all pests plaguing our house. Glue traps. Poison. Raid. Flat-headed shovel for black snakes. Mom squealing kill it! but would never dirty...
- 10From:The Midwest Quarterly (Vol. 62, Issue 4) Peer-Reviewedi. At ten years old, I saw my parents given over to speaking in tongues, to fiery spells of syllables that the elders of Life Tabernacle would interpret as prophecies. Months later, I rose out of the water in an aluminum...
- 11From:The Midwest Quarterly (Vol. 62, Issue 4) Peer-Reviewed--for Jane Hirshfield What comes out of you is often regrettable, those things I wish I held back, words, of course, but other things too, spit, say, the residue of sneezes, vapors that hold so many droplets of...
- 12From:The Midwest Quarterly (Vol. 62, Issue 4) Peer-ReviewedDo you know that Homer had no word for blue? The toneless sky, the wine-soaked sea The taut lipped rage of Achilles Violet, black, but never blue I tried telling you The morning whales swam through the air Above the...
- 13From:The Midwest Quarterly (Vol. 62, Issue 4) Peer-ReviewedRockabye baby, in the treetop When the wind blows the cradle will rock. It is the walk away from distraction that hurts him so he can barely breathe. There are worse things than chaos, the lifting of the stone and...
- 14From:The Midwest Quarterly (Vol. 62, Issue 4) Peer-ReviewedEmbedded in ecstatic joy Is the deepest sorrow Do you sense it? He who danced with you At your wedding Will die in pain right near you We build We lose We build again We are pickled by joy It leaves a cushion of memory...
- 15From:The Midwest Quarterly (Vol. 62, Issue 4) Peer-ReviewedA bank of cloud a quarter-mile long like an endless herd of sheep stopping traffic on a single country lane....
- 16From:The Midwest Quarterly (Vol. 62, Issue 4) Peer-ReviewedMy shadow reflects the stooped covering of a stacked pile of bones trundling the promenade four mile trek to absolutely nowhere except the homebound sacred trust a wee Buffalo Trace whiskey dram and an almost frozen...
- 17From:The Midwest Quarterly (Vol. 62, Issue 4) Peer-ReviewedWhere the tide turns out its pockets, this prosperous one stands, roots upending stone, loaded branches a stone's throw from smug lawns that extend a tenancy built against the ledge. Tourists speak French & German. You...
- 18From:The Midwest Quarterly (Vol. 62, Issue 4) Peer-ReviewedIt's not just the looms, it's what's looming. The row of women arched over their machines like colorless rainbows. Their smaller hands make them ideal for this kind of work. Managers keep their wages depressed. The row...
- 19From:The Midwest Quarterly (Vol. 62, Issue 4) Peer-ReviewedI don't think the dead can see us. I don't think they're crowding our houses, causing us to shiver each time we pass through their frigid presence. I don't think they want to visit us. No wish to be reunited, no...
- 20From:The Midwest Quarterly (Vol. 62, Issue 4) Peer-ReviewedWearing her white straw cloche with wooden cherries pinned to the brim, when Mother walked into Father's grocery in Jackson Heights, the floor seemed to tip, gliding her toward him-- his pale blue eyes, high cheekbones,...