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Ladan Osman
My mother walked Liido Beach every morning when pregnant.
I know the mineral scent of saltwater wherever I am.
If the sun bakes the metal of earth, if my own damp scalp sweats,
if I hold my hennaed palms to my face.
book
Coffee House Press
Feature Date
- November 20, 2019
Series
- Editor's Choice
Selected By
- Amaud Jamaul Johnson
Susan Laughter Meyers
What falls from the sky is not always rain
or any kind of weather. Call it precipitous.
I'm fooling myself, of course. Wearing sorrow
is nothing like skin shedding water.
It's more like the weight of a cloak of crows.
book
Press 53
Feature Date
- November 19, 2019
Series
Selected By
Aracelis Girmay
But to be perfectly clear,
my enemies are not hungry.
They are not standing in lines
for food, or stretching rations,
or waiting at the airports
to claim the pieces
of the bodies of their dead.
My enemies ride jets to parties.
book
Northwestern University Press
Feature Date
- November 18, 2019
Series
- What Sparks Poetry
Selected By
Chad Abushanab
There are things you can't learn over the phone,
like how each day your mother's losing weight.
Her hug has turned to a burlap sack of bones.
You imagine it sharp and cold. Her heart beats
jaggedly. There's dark beneath her eyes.
book
Autumn House Press
Feature Date
- November 17, 2019
Series
Selected By
Martha Silano
when pigeon guillemots gulp
Doritos bags, there's no room
in a gut for a mollusk, a morsel
of crab. Punches holes
in their organs. Strips parts. Scraps
scripts. When birds chew Blowpop
wrappers, guzzle Glad bags,
courtship desists.
journal
Notre Dame Review
Feature Date
- November 16, 2019
Series
Selected By
Jake Skeets
He is headlights; two boys quickly push off each other. Commas dangling like
belt buckles from their ankled jeans as they run out to the brushes.
book
Milkweed Editions
Feature Date
- November 15, 2019
Series
Selected By
Liu Tsung-Yuan (translated from the Chinese by Red Pine)
A thousand mountains and not a bird flying
ten thousand paths and not a single footprint
an old man in his raincoat in a solitary boat
fishes alone in the freezing river snow
book
Copper Canyon Press
Feature Date
- November 14, 2019
Series
- Translation
Selected By
Martha Collins
another beach, the last one we walked
together, hand in hand in the August sun,
and I walked on while you rested there, and now
it is winter and I am here with almost the last
of you in my hand
book
University of Pittsburgh Press
Feature Date
- November 13, 2019
Series
- Editor's Choice
Selected By
- Susan Tichy
Sara Ryan
I learn the word for willow tree.
I learn the word for howl and keep
it in my throat. the word for wolf
curls underneath my tongue. I have
studied pain this way—
journal
Thrush Poetry Journal
Feature Date
- November 12, 2019
Series
Selected By
Norman Dubie
It is almost polio season. The girls
From the cigarette factories in Massachusetts
Are still visiting the northern beaches.
At midnight, the milky rubbers
In the breakers are like a familiar invasion
Of sea life.
book
Copper Canyon Press
Feature Date
- November 11, 2019
Series
- What Sparks Poetry
