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Signing Forms
by Catherine Zickgraf That December,home from school,I’d finish my shift at 3 a.m. My hands cracked gripping the wheel.My breath froze in my lungsI though they’d turn to stone. The houses, too, were hollow.The road, too, unlit.My job was to go home. I sat on the steps one afternoonwith my morning coffeeand watched: My younger…
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Postpartum
by Catherine Zickgraf Paper neighbors drape my couch.They hold the baby,bake casseroles I can’t taste.I nibble when he sleepsor sleep when he napsafter I’ve boiled the bottlesand washed some spoons. I awoke this morning on the roll of toilet paper.Seems it cushioned my cheek sufficientlywhen I slipped near dawn down the tiles. Postpartum lasts at…