Passenger

Caroline Neel

New Year's Day and I burn my tongue
as I try with sweet and cream to dull
the morning ache of a train
searing through the countryside

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PoetryJeremy Bibaud
Anything but

Ann Wallace

She will never tell you
but the girl who shrugs
away from your touch,
who faces you
with chin down, eyes up,
slips from sight
as all eyes are watching,
feels anything but coy.

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PoetryJeremy Bibaud
Beach Boys

Matan Gold

My grandmother was born in D.F. but grew up in Cuba. Her father owned a sugar factory. He had strong arms and an elegant mustache. It was a life of tropical birds.

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PoetryJeremy Bibaud
against the glitter of those earth-held ores

Michelle Bailat-Jones

She watches them now as they are spread long-limbed over the dirt, their fingers reaching into the redness and the grit, their elbows and knees always dusty, always rubbed a little raw from their kneeling at play, this serious activity of theirs, eyes grave and directions passed between them in sensible whispers, never shouted because her children do not raise their voices.

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FlashJeremy Bibaud