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Jennifer Bartlett

excerpt from “The Hindrances of a Householder”

By Jennifer Bartlett
Jennifer Bartlett

from Autobiography/Anti-Autobiography

By Jennifer Bartlett to walk means to fall
to thrust forward

to fall and catch

the seemingly random
is its own system of gestures
Camisha Jones

Ode to the Chronically Ill Body

By Camisha Jones This body is one long moan

My feet a landscape of mines
My legs two full pails of water I spill
at the weight of
My back where the sharpest knives are kept
My hands a scatter of matches ready to spark into flame
Kathi Wolfe

Love at First Sight

By Kathi Wolfe In an elevator trapped
between the fifteenth and sixteenth
floor of her apartment building,
Sunday morning, Elizabeth, her cane
Ellen McGrath Smith

Spelling Down

By Ellen McGrath Smith I wanted bad to advance to Washington, D. C.
I wanted to be anyone but me.
The nun who had trained me for the spelling bee
needed a ride, and I was so worried all the way across town
Marilyn Nelson

Millie Christine

By Marilyn Nelson
Peter Cook and Kenny Lerner

Need

By Peter Cook and Kenny Lerner Need, desperate need, eagle-taloned need
is a pumping drill. The oil sloshes
to the brim. The lid slams and it’s a tanker
spewing smoke. It burps and hisses
L. Lamar Wilson

A Patch of Blue in Tenleytown

By L. Lamar Wilson She ambles about this Mickey-Dee kitchen’s din,
unmoved by the hot grease threatening
her ¿puedo tomar su orden? mask.
Hermine Pinson

Test for Cognitive Function

By Hermine Pinson Mother

Slipper

July

“ I will ask you to recall these words

at the end of our session”
Jill Khoury

Certain Seams

By Jill Khoury The boy across the street points at me and lisps—now I know what they mean in books
when they say children lisp. He wears a red and white striped t-shirt, addresses my friend who
walks beside me. I ask people to please walk on my left side. It’s the eye that’s not completely dead
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