Poetry Prize

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Use Your Words

My son looks up from drawing plants with teeth,
says, “You’re long-gone when we’re at Dad’s,” then tries
to find a better green. I think I’ll weep,
or maybe raise my hand and give him five.

Audio, Awards, Poems, Poetry Prize

Elegy for Tío Lazaro

Because he was already dying, he figured
there was no harm in huffing through 2 or 3 cigarettes

in the early morning before my mother would wake—
the animal of his thin, brown body lassoed

to an oxygen tank.

Audio, Poems, Poetry Prize

No Evidence

I was diagnosed with breast cancer.
One month later, my son was hit
and killed by a late model, blue Ford F150 truck.

My former therapist said I was being struck
by the perfect storm.

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Makeup

We were afraid to jinx it, so when my daughter emerged
from her dark bedroom for the first time in what felt like months
and came to the table with her soft face caked in cosmetics,
we all stilled our gazes, made certain not to react

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