Feed the Ducks

By - Feb 20, 2020

“This is all wrong,” I say. I put my hand on Phil’s shoulder. Every surrounding sound feeds into the strangeness; every distant dog bark and car alarm, mothers calling to their children at the playground, the crush of radios. “This is not right at all.”

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Do It Like This

By - Feb 17, 2020

This whole thing—I felt like my life was on the brink of something. And it was, obviously. “We’re going to be parents,” I said.

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Your First Ex-Boyfriend

By - Feb 14, 2020

I’m going to be your first ex-boyfriend

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Poem for the recently laid off

By - Feb 13, 2020

You are no longer twenty-seven or twenty-eight
Or twenty-nine or thirty

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Five Microcosmographies

By - Feb 11, 2020

The guard called me by name, a name he gave me and that is not worth repeating here. Today outside of the museum, I strained to see the emerald through the window. Over the heads of couples picnicking across a long lawn, the guard waved to me.

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