by Kristin Fogdall | May 2, 2017
In the chemical light of afternoon, our bodies curl over phones, sprawl slightly toward windows, holding empty forms, as if it’s test day. Once we were boys and girls. A faded poster says we’ve shed a thousand skins since then. Outside in the street, a road crew...
by Tanya Grae | Apr 26, 2017
I don’t wear my mother’s body. There’s no use sneaking around the house, a gingerbread prefab, forest-scented with frosting snow. Punch drunk on fairy tales. Non-ascetics: you & me— There are two kinds of romantics. Hungry poets traveling in packs. Youths high on...
by Christopher Salerno | Mar 20, 2017
We wake like bees and peel a lemon. Then there is a glowing. Do you want to eat it wedge by wedge? Pull the pith off, keep the seeds. Lift a blue crayon, ring each other’s mouths in blue. We all live under a rule— a lemon law for what’s beyond repair: our very...
by Julia Knobloch | Mar 1, 2017
SHAARE TIKVAH (GATES OF HOPE), LISBON * In this landscape, churches seem displaced. Half close your eyes in quiet contemplation, look behind the convents and the crosses. This is no realm for heavy robes and rosaries. It belongs to those who study time and space....
by Susan Hutton | Feb 23, 2017
Because the day changed you. Because your sister just left one day and made you the one who. Because you forget most of it, the parts you remember make up your life. Because I was biking behind the truck when I saw those deer spook and run the long hypotenuse between...
by Partridge Boswell | Feb 22, 2017
—after cummings and Spinoza We do not know what a body can do… how when she crossed the street asking you for a dollar so she could get something to eat, you fished in your pocket and peeled a twenty from a sheaf of bills saying: This...
