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The State Doesn’t Love Your Children
Joe’s number came up, and he never came home. Homesick for the innocence of teenage summers, driving his dad’s truck down to the moonlit beach, with a couple of cans that they shouldn’t have had, and a couple of friends he’d never see again. Joe’s sister was an unwed mother, but he still wrote to…
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My Father Loved His Horses
My father was always tall, just centimeters from the sky, I would pull on his legs, laughing as he collapsed, on his hands and knees, suddenly a horse, smiling and shuffling across the carpet, as if he were in a stable. I would pull myself onto his back, a princess, in the sky, with the…