Category / Midwest Review 5 (2017) / Poetry

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  • fake barns

    like armageddon in a meadow the buildings fall down all around us one nearly crushes your unconscious but it turns out you’re standing square inside the negated space of its sole window…

  • Minnesota Child at the End of Winter

    Underneath her, twigs tick. How thick grass dawns on her plastic sled. Her scoot over patches of snow grips a stuck tantrum of stopping dead. Rocks in palms—she signals potholes in March,…

  • Late Summer

    The past is not where you left it. —Carolyn Forché The earwigs now own my dahlia—each leaf, cluster of pink petals, unfurled bud— my treasure a shredded stalk I would not have…

  • Rain

    One morning all over town it began to rain, little downpours breaking out in the bakery, the laundromat. By nine it was thundering in the beauty parlor, drizzling in the jewelry store.…