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Julie Enszer

The Pinko Commie Dyke Returns

By Julie Enszer to the place where the idea
of being a pinko commie dyke
first entered her mind,
Sarah Sansolo

Aunty Mary and Her “Friend” Ruth, 1910

By Sarah Sansolo You wear the faded muslin—
did it begin yours or mine?
Everything we have is both.
Everything we are is both,
Allison Pitinii Davis

THE MOTEL CLERK’S SON DRIVES OUT TO CHECK ON BUSINESS, 1977

By 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
David Ebenbach

Looking for a Job

By David Ebenbach What you want, at least, is the dignity
of a Sisyphus—you want to see yourself
on a hilltop, your muscles and hands
afire and chest roaring for breath, and
Kim Roberts

The International Fruit of Welcome

By Kim Roberts Kim Roberts performs the poem "The International Fruit of Welcome" at the 2012 Split This Rock Poetry Festival.
Myra Sklarew

Exchange

By Myra Sklarew Myra Sklarew reads "Exchange" at the 2014 Split This Rock Poetry Festival.
Aaron Kreuter

Paddling the Nickel Tailings Near Sudbury

By Aaron Kreuter We put in at the edge of the tailings pond,
our canoe loaded with gear and food
to take us on the four-day loop trip,
our nylon tent and stainless steel pots.
Lee Sharkey

Man on a Sofa

By Lee Sharkey A man is lying on a sofa.

The man has been reading.

He has laid down the book beside him.

The man's form is waiting to be occupied.
Kim Roberts

PROTANDRIC

By Kim Roberts Oysters may look to us
like wet floppy tongues,

but there’s no licking.
There’s no touching.
Julie Enszer

Zyklon B

By Julie Enszer The painters call before we move into the new house. Ma’am, they say—

I am not old enough to be a ma’am, but I don’t correct them—
Ma’am, they say, we smell gas.

I dismiss their concern. I say, Keep painting.

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