The Atlas Review have taken a long poem called “When I say fathers I imagine the picture of my gentle father with his brother (dead now) and his mother (also dead) and his father, laughing, no one looking at the camera and no one noticing the photographer, who must be a friend or maybe my uncle on my mother’s side, and who is in the room but invisible, and who for us has handed down these bodies as they once were, and outside the room the crush of history goes on” for their second issue.