{
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  "path": "/article/210092/",
  "publishedAt": "2026-05-21T10:00:00.000Z",
  "site": "https://newrepublic.com",
  "tags": [
    "Magazine",
    "Poetry",
    "June 2026"
  ],
  "textContent": "there was smoke coiling the sky, dust and rubbish\n\nwindblown in an alley, a light rain beginning to fall,\n\nonce a black Cadillac rusted in a field of milkweed,\n\nOctober snow come down over Lake Huron,\n\nonce a young man disappeared and was found\n\ndays later a hundred and fifty miles away alone\n\nweeping near the railroad tracks in Carey, Ohio,\n\nthose thoughts, those days, consciousness expended\n\ndetermining the value of wage labor, the long-eared owl\n\nin the red maple watches a father in his living room chair\n\nweeping, furies and Molochs, hot-eyed comedies,\n\nthe shy and kind one’s mercies redeem me,\n\nold-souled premonitions, eternities repeated\n\nin a red and black flow.",
  "title": "Once"
}