Issue 149

Winter & Spring 2016

Image from This is Not My Home

Poetry Anne-Marie Cusac Poetry Anne-Marie Cusac

How the Neighbors Leave

Men in undershirts stare down,

toss out wastebaskets of receipts

like crumpled moths that keep striving to fly

against the dark brick, all the way to the ground.

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Poetry Anne-Marie Cusac Poetry Anne-Marie Cusac

The Scream

It must feel good

deep in her throat

and all through her belly and leg bones,

so she just won’t stop

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