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Every night I dream of fathers, their bodies ferried away
into the far corner between sleep and waking.
In the other world, I’m told, I was born / meant /
in the body of a rabbit •. . .
My friend, who lost her husband
twice, first in death
and then in betrayal, orders
the pinot noir.
Doctors at the frontline of the pandemic face down impossible choices.
The pod-ification of all experience looks different in quarantine.
Coronavirus and the lifestyles of the professional-managerial class.