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by Michael Brasier

      I furiously slipped on my shoes and hurried to the front room where my parents were putting on their jackets. The weather radar was on TV. A mass of red with arrows pointing in our direction on the map. A storm was quickly approaching.

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A Matter of Focus

by Jason D. DeHart

They placed him in a low
reader class because he could
not recite from the board.

There was no special name,
not like there is now.
He was not a bumblebee, or a yellow
bird, or a raven. He was not given
a color.
Not blue, gold, or white.
These were the days before such
disguising took place.

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