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We were, all of us, ethered
when the window broke. Soon after, the floor
From the kitchens where the gas is kept / beloved are the blues shining my shoulder / old potholes . . .
Every night I dream of fathers, their bodies ferried away
into the far corner between sleep and waking.
Who is expendable as we reopen for business?
Amid a pandemic, sanitation workers in New Orleans strike for safety.
On the entrepreneurial turn in city government.