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Learning to Live 8.5 Hours From My Autistic Daughter

The last time we talked
she said she wanted
every bone in her body
to break.
And so I picture her on a ledge
flirting with the idea of flying,
knowing she admires the flitting of butterflies
from one pollen hive to another
I watch her wings
open and close open and close
like they are breathing
like her wings are lungs
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My Boy Goes Out for Sports

This boy of mine tried
to be a sportsman.
Jane and I watched his team,
heedless ducklings clutching
plastic bats behind the T-ball,
the ball up high, right there
where they couldn’t miss it,
but they did. When shouts from
other parents roused us from our chat,
we tossed encouragement
into the ballfield’s air, no matter
whose kid got a hit.

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Listening

Elizabeth Szewczyk

I couldn’t erase their words,
catch the breath atoms, stuff
them between lips,
couldn’t raise survival rates,
lottery odds dependent on cells suctioned
at the precise moment.

Your chest thumping, frantic,
valves siphoning warmth, drawing
cold through vessels, to your feet
crisping leaves beneath us while
you spoke her life.

Replaying slowly, baby girl, toothless
smile, creative toddler scissoring
Barbie hair (and

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