John’s Reviews > The Pushcart Prize XXXIX: Best of the Small Presses 2015 Edition > Status Update

The autumn rains begin as well, and between midnight and dawn, the prison is a place my father does not want to leave. The susurrus of water on the lead roof is defeaning, absolving. It drowns out all sounds of men crying in their sleep, of voices raised in fury, of the yard guard who.... [Wells Tower, 416].