Poetry
Poem of the Week
I’ve never cared for the National Anthem. It’s not a good song.
Poem of the Week
The guy who drove the mother to the morgue hands him an empty.
Nostrils a little raw, displaced, conscripted, by your Shock and Awe.
Poem of the Week
I want to remember us this way—sun streaming through the window.
Poem of the Week
She can go to Bible study every Sunday and swear she’s still not convinced.
Poetry
It’s so easy these days to receive what you thought you needed.
Poem of the Week
Streetlights throw the blinds against the ceiling. It’s 7:00 p.m.
Poetry
Royal baby George is tucked in the crook of his mother’s elbow.
Poetry Contest Winners
Is she dreaming of the rivers soft with codling in her hometown?
Poetry
All over the planet people try to end pain: striptease, bee stings.
Poem of the Week
A boy watching another boy lucky gets an ache. That is a small motor.
Poetry
A father peeled the night / from another midnight & begged / me to lie
Poetry
I have, in the long solitude of my body, asked for something else.
Poetry
Those eight or nine steps
climbed toward a small, low window.
Poetry
My bike, my skinny body, my pent breath was thrown to the grass.
Poem of the Week
However hard you try to make amends, they will still condemn you.
Poem of the Week
We are going south where I know that my father is going to die.
Poem of the Week
When he was a child, my father had a cousin who was buried by a plow.
Poetry
The stones here carry the island’s low cry inside them. A landlocked grief.
Poetry
To articulate sweet sounds together is to work harder than all these.
Classics
I, being poor, have only my dreams; I have spread my dreams.
Poetry Contest Winners
The animals are dying. All the beautiful women are dying too.
Poem of the Week
I’ll see you on the sea, they say, but then they float past on a raft
Poetry
He tuned the future backward as he left the ringing water to reclaim me.
Poem of the Week
L comes over & we walk turns around the block—this is what we’re allowed.
Poem of the Week
I want to say hold these harp strings steady atop the tallest summit.
Poetry
What if my mother could have been happy if I hadn’t been born?
Poetry Contest Winners
I sit next to a man I never loved but let kiss me wetly for two months.
Poem of the Week
I never knew that the song of the first summer cicadas could ease my hips
Poetry
Crows rasp from branches, scatter debris across unfinished plots.
Poem of the Week
Empty is a strange destination, like arriving at the end of the party.
