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Sarah Browning After the great snow of 2016, my car sits
locked in icy drifts a week, green fossil
of the oil age preserved in graying amber.
Melissa Tuckey Unable to sleep,
the blankets wrapped in waves, waves
as tall as dreams,
the dream world trying to make sense
Claire Hermann God separated the light from the darkness,
but I have a light switch.
Once there was morning and evening,
but now someone has torn the heart out of a mountain,
Kim Roberts Hundreds of tiny fry
crowd the single tank,
churning the water milky.
The fry grow to parr
Susan Eisenberg for my asthma inhaler that
last year cost fifteen
I pause for the mom
Purvi Shah You had a name no one
could hold between their
teeth. So they pronounced
Fred Joiner a pocket can sometimes be
a kind of prison,
I have never lived in
Jeanann Verlee I finish a small hot plate of grease & salt, & push the scraped-clean plate across the counter for someone else to scrub / this, I say I have paid for but it doesn't fit
Allison Pitinii Davis Before him, stickers fade across the bumper:
LAST ONE OUT OF TOWN, TURN OFF THE LIGHTS.
The last employer in Youngstown is the weather:
the truck behind him plows grey snow to the roadside