No Poem Is the Only Poem. No Story Is the Only Story. Since 2015.
Inside the Coliseum in Lincoln, a dozen National Guardsmen stood grasping long guns, a pair of men at each entry, the rest rimming the basketball court. A German shepherd, triangle ears rigid, flanked the officer in center court, its short leather leash wrapped tightly around the man’s fist. Sitting courtside to keep an eye on the varsity cheerleaders she coached, Grace Rowley could not decide whether the dog was there to protect or attack.
When I look in the mirror I’m looking for someone who looks like me
Daffodils of autumn
Do you know why the stars never fail the night when it’s young and early? We’ve lost more time drawing ourselves into a tomorrow we aren’t in.
- Where are you from, kids?
“We are from Chernobyl,” the girls answered in chorus, meaning that they were victims of the nuclear accident, although they were not from Chernobyl itself.
And then the woman jerked her companion by the hand, shouting loudly, "Let's get out of here quickly! These children are radioactive; you can't stand near them. They emit radiation, which means death."