Category: Poetry

by Suzanne Highland my god made me a brutalist. an idolizer of concrete instead of autumn. disciple of architecture isolating one window from the next. my god still drops into my dreams sometimes as a small safe or an ankle monitor. reciprocates my loyalty by shoving my face in it. even the trees behave more…

by Andrea Jurjević In the prewar and in the postwar    we made colorsusually in the school bathroom                       between classesa swarm of girls crowding      the graffitied wallssome of us entered      one of the three narrow stallsin pairs                        one pulling jeans down to her kneesher shirt a wrinkled valance   over her downy hivebabbling…

by Bobby Elliott Remember when the lightsused to go out? Not even flicker –they would just shut right off.Sometimes you wouldn’t noticeif you came home after schooland there was the usual sundoing its usual errandsaround the house.You would take a nap in the afternoon.You were a kid and hatedyour math homework.And you would wake to…

by McKenzie Chinn i bought this gold linen dressto wear on my trip to the desert.i know that a dress in the desert is impractical,but maybe that’s half the point.whatever. i trust myself. i am going to the desert.i want to know what real stillness is like,what stars can really do to a sky andif…

by Hannah Oberman-Breindel And all the trees are bleeding. Marigold topsdrip crimson at the bottom. Fall is repletewith endings. Leaving the church-sponsoredbillboards and the state-sponsoredseatbelt reminders of the highway, we driveinto town. We are visiting for a wedding.On the business loop: big box stores, barswith windows boarded-up, parking lotsand drive-thrus. Spires above the tree line.Saturday’s…

by Arielle Hebert I begin again,the ceremony of searchingfor arrest records any small wordcarried like a spideron the shouldersof a gulf windto tell me she’s alive. Ten yearsthis ritual has growna knotted vine my wild needto dig up roots. I’ve dug so deepdown here, it’s gravedirt. I’m alone withmy loyal dogsCanes Venaticiand we’re hungrywaiting for the scent and when we find…

by Hannah V. Warren when mother slaughters a hogknife on throat blood on hands her daughters watch & clapbellies full of meat & hot stones it should be no surprisewhen the oldest sister says little sister you be the hog& I’ll be the butcher knife on throat blood on handsmother finds the eldest daughter belly full of meat & hot…

by Leona Sevick If I told you I climbed into an old carwith an ex-con and a philandering drunk,neither of whom I’d met before,you’d shake your head long and slow. With an ex-con and a philandering drunk?You’d say you’re just asking for trouble,you’d shake your head long and slow.Did I tell you they were famous writers? You’d…

by Bailey Cohen ma got them especifically, she said, about thehojas para tamales, except your Spanish wasn’tvery good so you heard ojos & were terrified,nightmared eyes peering through small tearsin a pale yellow but nonetheless ate themlike you might to very pretty grapes                                                                                         they filled youwith an immense sadness, but you knew the worst thing you…

by Ashley M. Jones Two thousand three hundred miles away from home and I’m watching the tiny camera attached to the back of my parents’ house. Brother dragging the black trash bin to the curb, sister’s humto the backdoor with her key and bag in hand. The breaths of our quiet house. I’ve been thinking, lately, about time,…