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Masks and Gloves

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By Rebecca Chace

Today a man died in front of our building, or maybe he didn’t. It’s spring 2020 in Brooklyn, New York. Yesterday, the death count was only forty-six, the day before it was sixty-one. Up and down have replaced north and south on the compass. I opened our front door, masked and gloved, inhaling Pine Sol from the spray bottle we use on the door knob we share with other...

Speaking of Which: Work in Progress

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 By Uche Nduka

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they maced their faces multiple times they broke
their eyeglasses tenth ride of the Mounted Units
this...

Rooms and Clarinets

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Clifford Thompson

Malcolm X has been on my mind lately. I’ll get to that in a moment.

In my early and mid-teens, I played the clarinet, badly. I gave it up after that, and I don’t even know where my old clarinet is. But I have another one now, given to me by a friend who found it in her apartment, left behind by a previous tenant; my friend thought of me as she herself was...

Three Poems by Uche Nduka

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By Uche Nduka

partly because love
travels through much
of these lines

ears & glyphs follow

something like a rash move
& various kinds
of self-denial

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