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The Word from Wuhan

Wang Xiuying

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Luc Sante

Is it OK to have a child?

Meehan Crist

Short Cuts: Ubu Unchained

August Kleinzahler

Bury that bastard

Nicole Flattery

Surplus Sons

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Alison Light

Poem: ‘1 x 30’

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The Old Bailey

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Jiggers, Rods and Barleycorns

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More Marple than Poirot

J. Robert Lennon

On Rachael Allen

Matthew Bevis

Like a Ball of Fire

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The Staffordshire Hoard

Tom Shippey

Blessed Isles

Mary Wellesley

At the Movies: ‘Jojo Rabbit’ and ‘A Hidden Life’

Michael Wood

Redeeming Winnie

Heribert Adam

Diary: A Friendly Fighting Force

Nick McDonell

Two PoemsPeter Gizzi
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Wintry Mix

The 6 a.m. January
encaustic clouds
are built
in a waxy gray putty
whizzing by with spots
of luminous silvery
crack-o’-the-world light
coming through, an eerie
end-o’-the-world feeling
yet reassuring
like an old movie.
Do I really have to go out there?
Now a hint of muted
salmon tones breaking
a warmish band
of welcoming pinkish light.
Is it like this every morning?
My head still in the dark.
Worry, eck! But the brightening
russet-tipped cloud ballet
reminds me of something
in Pliny, yea, Pliny.
Can’t imagine opening
the door today in a toga.
Work and more,
yes, work
sends us into the draft.

Last Century Thoughts in Snow Tonight

This is winter where light flits at the tips of things.
Sometimes I flit back and glitter.

Too much spectacle conquers the I.
This is winter where I walk out underneath it all.

What could I take from it? Astonishment?
I wore an extra blanket.

This is winter where childhood lanterns skate in the distance
where what we take is what we are given.

Some call it self-reliance. Ça va?
To understand our portion, our bright portion.

This is winter and this the winter portion
of self-reliance and last century thoughts in snow.

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