Stories
Poem of the Week
We did not know at the moment of parting that it was a parting.
Poetry
A simple line of raging wet nearby, how as a kid I pictured the Nile.
Poetry
Wicked fictions wrap a young tongue’s sweet-tipped fibs into fact.
Poem of the Week
In that world I was a fish too eager to enter the nets; here, I’m a river.
Poem of the Week
insomniacs gesturing in a cave of neon light the narrative of their lives
Poem of the Week
What will we do without exile, and a long night that stares at the water?
Poetry
My “lonelymaking.” Also known as my horrible secret, continent-wide.
Poetry
I slept but never dreamed there. Nor did I feel the need to court a god.
Poetry
You are the dark it is trying to leave. You are the screen holding it back.
Poetry
It’s the final lull, if it’s mud loosening its grip, an iron door swinging on dry hinges.
Poetry
No fields of gold. No ripe. One hill, no wave, no roll. I am billboards.
Narrative Outloud
Dan Gerber reads poems of boyhood, and from the end of his mother’s life.
Poetry
The angel lay in his body effervescent as a flake of alabaster.
Poetry
Not all his children love themselves. Look at little Adrienne.
Poem of the Week
Two surgeons vaulted over a counter to hold open my incisions.
