Poetry
Poem of the Week
It was comforting to see her suffer the way we suffer, hollowed out.
Poem of the Week
The ego with which we began filters away as love accumulates below.
Poem of the Week
we are saying thank you in doorways and in the backs of cars
Poem of the Week
The snow on the windshield a tunnel of wings my friend is driving through.
Poetry
That there are five sturdy red Gerber daisies in a jar on the table.
Poem of the Week
I was once very brave. Once I was very brave. I was very brave once.
Poem of the Week
Centrifugal force circled the beasts until they swirled airborne.
iPoems
Three lives I flicked alight with a few match scrapes. I cupped them.
Poem of the Week
A woman pushing a walker understands—gravel can be pain.
Poetry
I didn't yet understand how loving something means to lose it.
Poetry
What my father and I destroyed, I take back—kneeling, among the shells.
Poem of the Week
Everyone is talking about the end of the world. Why now? Why today?
iPoems
Afterward, it was nature that was blind, and she who was wild.
Poem of the Week
A dwarf is now crying, he sounds swollen but golden with malediction.
Poem of the Week
Some say there’s a skeleton out here, a symbol of cleanliness.
Poetry
I could page the women’s voices in their velvet bags bound with string.
Poem of the Week
I have seen your ocean. I have heard your waves beside my bed.
Poetry Contest Winners
He grew a forest of candles and cried when it succumbed to wildfire.
Poetry
Raw, glistening—god’s design. Her newborn flesh-on-the-bone.
Poem of the Week
It comes as no surprise that everything is flying toward one point.
Poem of the Week
The blackbirds in the rain upon the dead topbranches notate the dawn.
Poem of the Week
This poem weaves human and earthly hurt together in just a few short lines.
Poetry
The trees were a sign from the devil, a warning of the terror to come.
Poem of the Week
She is a stalk, exhausted. She will surround these bones with flesh.
Poem of the Week
Watch out. That we thought him gone only proves his wily knowledge.
Poetry
I open the gift: a small ocelot, its mouth a cave, pearl teeth waiting.
Poem of the Week
Men veer into the earth and don’t come out.
Silent choirs of canaries roost in a forest of chimneys.
Poem of the Week
If you didn’t listen you would think it was a cry for help or sympathy.
