Stories
Poem of the Week
Language seems accomplice to grieving, everything dissolves.
Poetry
I find lost prayers in the tiny edging around buttonholes.
Poem of the Week
I answered, blood rushing like the shadow cast by a cloud of starlings.
Poem of the Week
When we watched jellyfish, Mary Kate wondered if they dreamed of land.
Poem of the Week
We could hear the parade three blocks before it arrived at our corner.
Poetry
Before sunrise I counted nine meteors scratching the heavens.
Poem of the Week
The tall, flashing curtains of glass keep them a breath’s thickness apart.
Poem of the Week
Praise the ease of it: how simple it is to tell the dog he loves her.
Poem of the Week
I hear my brother’s wife whisper, It’s her again. Let the machine get it.
Poem of the Week
The summer Victor died, his dad spoke to no one but the canaries he kept.
Poem of the Week
That Hawaiian shirt is the first thing Ratso’s owned that he hasn’t stolen.
Poem of the Week
Stable-keeper’s kids know broken then healed, but healed with limits.
Poem of the Week
If you tear down the web it will simply know this isn’t a place to call home.
Poem of the Week
Who mind loved would not rather be loved body too. Since all is all.
Poem of the Week
Sundays, your wife at Mass, we locked ourselves in my room.
Poetry
It was as the angel speaking of Isaac, a deception, a test to survive.
Poetry Contest Winners
The small, inadequate marks follow the outline, things left behind.
Poetry
Smoke and stock and toasted chili flakes. The garlic at marshmallow tan.
Poetry
What small song do you sing under your breath that is only for you?
Poem of the Week
With your hands in the air you held an infant tightly, trying to save it.
Poem of the Week
Mistaking water hemlock for parsley, I die hours later in the hospital.
Poem of the Week
I’m guilty—locating my gratitude against someone else’s suffering.
Poem of the Week
Anything can happen because everything happens in New York.
Poem of the Week
How High Is the Moon? Too high to be touched, too high to be felt.
Poetry
I had that feeling of being young again, immortal, wearing a magic war shirt.
Poem of the Week
I read that poem twice, didn’t I? I must have wanted to hear it again.
Narrative High School Writing Contest
The knife in my mother’s hand flakes into penny-stained rust.
