Poetry

Three Poems

Marci Calabretta Cancio-Bello

Generations are contained
in her wrist bones, in whether she can
constrain the nature of the bird.

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Badlands / The Lakehouse

Jennifer Molnar

You’re tempted to find God in every abandoned landscape:
twist of black road snaking through dry grass, shroud
of white hotel cotton, blank heaven that cannot conjure
cloud.

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Three Poems

Corinne Schneider

Today
I got my legs waxed. I needed someone
to hurt me a little.

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