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Native Memory – Ansel Elkins 

River was my first word
after mama.
I grew up with the names of rivers
on my tongue: the Coosa,
the Tallapoosa, the Black Warrior;
the sound of their names
as native to me as my own.

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Portrait of the Self as Skunk Cabbage – James Davis May

Maybe it’s like those hard
red rubbery spathes
that in early spring—
make that late winter—
create their own heat
and halo themselves

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Instant Messages – lowellgm

no more
sly cupped hand

Read rest of poem, plus four others by lowellgm. See more about the form here.