Max Sessner

  LEAVING THE CAFÉ   The girl takes the umbrella or does the umbrella take the girl lead her out into the wet evening...
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Francesca Bell

Five years into your child’s illness, / when you can no longer conceive of life / without its dank presence, you see / a blanched sky bearing a trace of rose / and the moon, risen huge—

Francesca Bell

I peer into the little darkness / her flesh holds, // thinking how a person can’t stop herself

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