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Place: Tim Craig

Ebb’s Nook It’s a liminal place, this promontory. Existing at the point where the sky meets the land, the bay meets the open sea and — with the outline of the tiny 12th Century chapel walls still just visible under…
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Place: Jan Turk Petrie

What Remains Must be twenty or more out there on hands and knees digging up our once beautiful garden right down to the ochre subsoil; no stone is to be left unturned. Orderly, I’ll give them that. A human line…
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Place: Roberta Beary

On the Last Ferry to Inishbofin Lost in the landscapes were the blue gulls careening their watchful dance. The sea was the colour of loss, of father’s last words. Nothing so grand as be not afraid in the original. Though…
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Place: Julia Strayer

Boy Things I scuff through the woods waiting for hips that won’t come. Heel toe heel toe down the length of a fallen tree. Roll a rock—pill bugs, millipedes, the smell of earth. My breasts finally made an appearance, large…
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Place: Andrew Stancek

Weather-beaten On the road shoulder across from our church, our former church, our home, our former home, I am gathering courage to put my Rambler into drive, to step on the gas. Four hundred and thirteen days we’d spent; I…
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