These images commingle now in memory as my first headlong descent into the strangeness of grief.
Read MoreThree Poems by Sonia Feldman
the small birds stepping like dames / through the green aisles, / and the strawberry plants blushing / on the garden floor-- / I've never known another place / as animal for longing.
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Black Cactus by Marc Tweed
The sun bathes the front of the shop in a new white light as he readies to open. A small gray bird has made its way in somehow, slamming itself repeatedly against the big spotless window and he uses a broom to gently prod it out the propped-open door to freedom.
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Obituary (For my Cousin) by Emma Kaiser
He tried to form a band with a group that included my high school boyfriend, but kicked them all out of his house when they didn’t take the music as seriously as he did.
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A Man Explodes by John Honkala
They want answers. Did the man explode? Can a man explode? Why have you said nothing? Why is the press silent too? The man with the megaphone climbs a fence and calls to the police station.
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Purple Flowers by Kira K. Homsher
I keep hoping a storm will come and sweep away all this clutter, all these dollhouse messes.
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One Last Time by Cathy Luna
Memory doesn’t work like writing, one word at a time, one ant in a line. It’s more like a science-class filmstrip on fire in the projector, one image blooming orange-white and black into another.
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Whatever it is, the way you tell your story online can make all the difference.
Two Poems by Nicholas Gruber
i brush my cheek with a lover so bewildered by kissing, he detonates / my clenched gristle instead. in red honey clothes, i am similar flesh / & you know new lovers: always making do.
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A Normal Interview with Leah Silvieus and Lee Herrick, by Bradley Samore
For me, the way that I’ve learned to access faith or my relationship with God is primarily through poetry. It is this dynamic, ongoing process, and I think that that’s the way that faith has to live in me.
Read MoreTwo Poems by Robin LaMer Rahija
we forced open small holes and planted / their delicate bodies, covered / the white network / of translucent roots. / We watered them and waited.
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Bulletproof by Bethany Marcel
Monica felt her soul leaving her body. It traveled up into the organic, free-range rafters, then looked down at Monica, and laughed and laughed.
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Nature Morte by Michelle Orabona
Get out of the house, they said. Do something. Make something. Be something. They knew, they understood. But it was time, they said. We’re just trying to help, just looking out for you, just trying to help you move on, carry on, get through it, over it, past it.
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Two Poems by Chris Haven
They are relic and untouchable. They move older than direction, under timelapse skies.
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Two Poems by Sarah Wetzel
we forced open small holes and planted / their delicate bodies, covered / the white network / of translucent roots. / We watered them and waited.
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Onomatopoeia by Robert Yune
Mostly, I marveled at the sound the ring made against the floor—it was a persistent, golden tone that hovered in the air while splitting it. Even decades after I’ve forgotten Damien’s face and voice, I can almost see that sound, can picture that particular vibration in the air.
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Something About Mangoes by Courtney Lund O’Neil
I stopped by the gas station to pick up Christie’s favorite slim Capri cigarettes, two packs. When you were dying, cigarettes and calories didn’t matter.
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Boyfriend Material by Garrett Ashley
As if to interrupt the growing rift in mine and Don's own relationship, the swearing and physical brawls, broken lamps and TV remotes, Don's cousin made the leap to split with her boyfriend, and so she asked for a little help getting back onto her feet.
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A Normal Interview with Melissa Febos by M.D. McIntyre
It feels important to acknowledge that I come to theory—and I include theory in my work—out of a place of unknowing, and I don’t privilege that language and work over a sort of simple, straightforward description of experience.
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Anniversary by Simona Zaretsky
I want to have no synonym. No confusion with the other lost children, who cry quietly because they haven’t been young since grief froze fingers and toes, took hearts and squeezed them of decadent innocence, dripping away like rose-colored honey.
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Landscapes of a Pandemic by Teow Lim Goh
Here I skate 10 km, bringing my season total to 191 km. Dust on crust, and I come out early enough that I make first tracks. What I do not yet know is that this will be the last picture that I would take before we go into lockdown.
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