Poetry

  • I Pray

    by Keith Kopka

     

    like the kid who knows

    he’s a year too old

    to sit on the mall Santa’s lap,

     

    waiting in line anyway,

    hedging his bets

     

    to make certain that new dirt bike

    is under the tree.

     

    Which is …

  • WANDALUST

    by Tila Neguse

     

    After and for Wanda Coleman

     

    i wanna talk about wanda, wanda can i talk about you
    wanda can i talk to you, wanda, girl, mam, sistuh, mama
    how should i …

  • Great White Rocks the F—k out, 1989

    by Ross White

     

    Mark Kendall’s fingers slither up the strat’s fretboard
    so smooth the sound comes out of a Marshall stack
    like butter, and then Audie Desbrow switches
    from brush on cymbal to …

  • The Gift

    by Vievee Francis

    Angels do not appear dressed as we imagine. Why
    would they? They are naked beneath their poor choices:
    unmatched and worn. A hat and no shoes. Shoes
    and no shirt. …

  • I Am Prone to Growing Old

    by Dilruba Ahmed

     

    These lines might declare
    that I no longer fear it, but I boast
    like one who wields

    new weapons—
    all bravado, flourish, and strut—
    while inside I’m gripped

    with recoil, knocked back

  • Halation

    by Georgia M. Brodsky

     

    With her, you are more. Morning now. You are
    horizontal in the guest bed most of the time. You
    are awake and horizontal more than you have ever
    been. She …

  • New Day

    by Valencia Robin

    If we perceive barely a sliver of our reality,
    the knowable only a small part of what’s out there,

    that fat bee bumping up against the window,
    the faint sound of …

  • Unsolved Mystery

    by Laura Newbern

     

    It is always some northern state.

    Michigan. Minnesota. A road, two lanes,

    in a soft twilight. Tame woods

    on either side, railroad tracks

    that …

  • Catalog for a Lover (May 9th)

    by Erin Noehre

     

    Woke with your name knocking
    the light of my teeth.

    Our love years distant now,
    still there are things
    I thought you should see.

    Mountain laurel giving itself
    the kiss of my …

  • Glasses Crow on Fiat Money

    by Dexter L. Booth

     

    You’d think there’s more     copper     in a black man
    blood     than in a penny—every time they shoot
    dollar signs     spring from his back     don’t matter