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You could almost call them a squad—sometimes as many as seven, when they all pitched in.
My mother wrestles with the stakes
and I with her, with the tomato vines
caught in our decades-old wires.
When you leave the museum
of contemporary art, opening
the doors to midday, you may need
a few minutes to reset context:
the. . .
The private wars of VA Secretary Robert Wilkie.
In Spike Lee's latest, black vets return to Vietnam.
Notes on Beirut’s broken sewage system.