Poems
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“Danse Macabre, Mississippi” by Anna Journey
Danse Macabre, Mississippi: My Great-Grandmother Fires a BB Gun There were black-eyed Susans loose at the hip, the limp magnolia blooms worked to a quiver. There were white necks of her Belgian hens sent cracking. The day Baby Grace died…
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“On Some Early Modern Artifacts” by Zach Savich
The line you know best / Represents sadness. / That is your birthline.