From the Archive: Laurie D. Graham (CAROUSEL 27)

From the Archive: Laurie D. Graham (CAROUSEL 27)

LAURIE D. GRAHAM The Window Blind Factory Hardshipis the endurance of atrophy. On break outside Derwent High School,now a blind factory cultivating jobs, in the bookless classrooms of industry,gymnasium lifebreath enterprise, entrepreneurial smoke-breaks or not — the women in front of the school have the same devout braids,the same homemade blouses under company windbreakers, the same empty hands. Maybe they’re made to wear uniforms. Blind into blind-slot, factory vinyl,promise of supper and a walk to

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From the Archive: Natalie Zina Walschots (CAROUSEL 27)

From the Archive: Natalie Zina Walschots (CAROUSEL 27)

NATALIE ZINA WALSCHOTS Supervillains Charybdis wolf-bellied and writhingshe the rock to your whirlpool all bladder all mouthyou vomit seawatereffluence all salt slavering tentacle to gaping mawperfect dinner companions you shatter the vesselshe devours the crew Lex my stately pleasure dome, decree Parasite hunger gone hollow slobber shankedgnaw to marrow swallow Doom 1 grillwork rebuff skin, bitten superconductordata scatters toes to TENS unitmy circuit shortens gauntlet concave vice, blasted infraredtatters tracked heat signaturewhat alloy allows jetpack

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From the Archive: Sandra Jensen (CAROUSEL 27)

From the Archive: Sandra Jensen (CAROUSEL 27)

SANDRA JENSEN Romeo and the Lonely Girl Besides the Sunday dance at the Bunbeg Hotel, the only thing I looked forward to was going to sleep. We lived in the middle-of-nowhere-Donegal, surrounded by barren, treeless hills and sheep with scrapies. Excitement consisted of: Cripply-Wipply passing our house on his daily four-mile hobble to the nearest pub; the wurra-wurra bird scaring the bejesus out of me at night; my hair always smelling of peat smoke; oily

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From the Archive: Yi-Mei Tsiang (CAROUSEL 27)

From the Archive: Yi-Mei Tsiang (CAROUSEL 27)

YI-MEI TSIANG We Take Our Children Tobogganing after wrestling with boots and mittsafter packing hot chocolate, teddy grahams, extra socks,after waiting out the held-breath tantrum over zippers. We stand at the top, an impasse, clouds of breathforming a storm over their little woolen-wrapped heads. Their voices needle us, sharp and small — I don’t wanna — enough to draw blood. I hear the whir of a distant bird, air plunging through its struggling wings. Some

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