By Daniella Toosie-Watson
Dad, you look like a doll I wouldn’t want to play with, boxed in your casket. The mortician tried to paint you pretty. I wanted to be pretty, too, but mom says makeup is inappropriate for funerals.
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By Elise Paschen
Train on the railsMoon buttonholes the skyThe sorrow, the sailsYour hand, my thigh.
Moon buttonholes the skyLines trail airplanesYour hand, my thighDoors close again.