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“Querida Angelita,” by Angela Morales

When they finally arrived in San Ysidro, California, she climbed out of the coyote’s trunk, where she was reborn, right there in the corner of a McDonald’s parking lot, parallel to the gargantuan 405 freeway, which looked that night like the tentacles of an electric octopus—bursts of white headlights and red taillights, swirling and whizzing by, right across the chain-link fence.

The Invention of the I: A Conversation with Paul Muldoon

“Just historically, a lot of poets have had a bad time in their forties. Writers start publishing in their late twenties or early thirties—I think that’s when most poets probably begin to publish. I started a little bit earlier than that. At some level, I feel as though I’ve had very lucky innings, and I suppose I’m thinking about myself:  when is it going to stop, or has it already stopped? How am I going to keep myself honest?”