Stories
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.
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.
Poem of the Week
I wore the rose pants for weeks without telling anyone.
Poem of the Week
I don’t know you, I only think of you to ignore how unhappy I am.
Poem of the Week
When the light failed she listed all the places he might find her.
Poetry
We might have seen it coming, had we not had our eyes fixed on it.
Poem of the Week
The portal light, on your face, now, a rose light on a sinking freighter.
Poem of the Week
A boy knew he wouldn’t see his mother’s face as he rose from the mat.
Poetry
An idea surfacing—a crack of orange teeth. As if a ceiling disappears.
Poem of the Week
Let me lie down with you and listen, let me tell you what I know.
Poem of the Week
We could use our arms to squeeze or hold or load not a gun, not a gun.
Poem of the Week
She takes her hand to my scalp: eyes close as if tasting lemon cake.
