I read someone stole a frieze from Santa Croce
over the weekend. And given my sense of Florence
or elsewhere is less than impressive, I thought maybe
you and the thief may have passed on the street.
Read More
Two Poems by Katrin Tschirgi
I'm tired of being cute. On Tuesday,
I wore nothing but an apron and dismembered
an orange as though it were an oyster
or a man.
Read More
Three Poems by Felicia Zamora
Fingers to keyboard, cyber-minded
when the photo hits your inbox—
Hexagons burnt into wood: a pattern
innately inside the bee, graffiti-ed
by human hands.
Read More
Four Poems by Nathalie Handal
I asked you not to hurt me
the way history did
Three Poems by Annie Woodford
Prisms spin in the hardwood floor.
My daughter glides and chops, skate-shod,
Her little girl legs a perfection of knees and narrow thighs.
Read More
Three Poems by Dahlia Seroussi
Four Poems by Priscilla Wathington
”I was a ghost in a strawberry field for five years,” he says.
“The ghosts were plentiful, ‘la fruta
del diablo,’ as they called it, also--
faakiha ash-Shaytan.”
Read More
Three Poems By Laura Wetherington
Soft solid visage, followed by reflection.
If only each cavity knew oblivion.
The eye, preceded mostly by footwork,
waves into pain. The right to feel the lights.
Read More
Two Poems by by Melissa Stein
Everything served up / on a silver charger. / Even the air conditioning, / even the sink fixtures / hold the peculiar/ inevitability of flawless / design.
Read More
Two Poems by D.M. Aderibigbe
Three Poems By Esther Lee
Give me back to my body—not the same
narratives you write everyday nor wheels on
ends of piano legs, but rather, a momentary
transcendence, or at least system overridden,
before you take a bullet in the back—
Read More
Two Poems By Jennifer S. Cheng
If temperature were a way to know the world, then
waning heat, half-heat, these would be names for the body in progress
and not merely words for the time of day. If texture were our
primary experience, we might have ways of calling ourselves
to others.
Read More
Four poems By Samiya Bashir
Avoid heavy cottons.
Embrace the blend into a moonless night.
Necessities only: medicine, make-up, moisturizer.
Leave lugging to the muscle.
Read More
Two Poems By Lyn Coffin
Walking hard on a stone beach, both of us
(as we joked) literally around the bend,
we came to where once upon a time a cliff
collapsed-- the wreckage of what had been
a cottage with a view
Read More
For Jermaine, Six, Dead in Boston By Patricia Smith
Spent bullets sparkle on streets grimy with the thud of winter.
Knives bulge odd angles in children’s pockets, and any one
of their upturned words could bring us another you.
Read More
Symptoms of Homesickness by Gabriella R. Talmadge
Constant state of what. Word for word for what.
what wounded. Thirst of what, tending the fires of what.
Read More
Two Poems By Grant Kitrell
Things are not always dead. Dad’s elbow, for instance, I thought I saw it folding in the shallows among the orange tree scraps. Mom dumps them off the end to float the creek.
Read More
Three Poems By Ladan Osman
I can't tell why I think the dried corncobs
in the gravel and the mattress under the tree
were not put here by children who bite so fast
they leave rows of kernels.
Read More
Two Poems by Cortney Lamar Charleston
And it darts across the street with the speed
of a rumor’s shadow – a dark and discreet beast
about his size, small configuration of bones
that he is.
Read More