Poetry Daily
Traci Brimhall
It's the garden spider who eats her mistakes at the end of day so she can billow in the lung of night, dangling from an insecure branch or caught on the coral spur of a dove's foot, and sleep, her spinnerets trailing radials like ungathered hair. It's a million-pound cumulus.
from the book Come the Slumberless To the Land of Nod / Copper Canyon Press

What Sparks Poetry is a serialized feature in which we invite poets to explore experiences and ideas that spark new poems. In our first series, The Poems of Others, we invited our editors to pay homage to the poems that led them to write. The Poems of Others II is a reprise of that series, opening the invitation to twenty-four poets from among our readers.

Hadara Bar-Nadav on Gwendolyn Brooks’s “the rites for Cousin Vit”
Photo: Hadara Bar-Nadav
Gwendolyn Brooks
Carried her unprotesting out the door. Kicked back the casket-stand. But it can't hold her, That stuff and satin aiming to enfold her, The lid's contrition nor the bolts before.
Paul Batchelor
One funny thing about a university education's the unexpected opportunities it will afford you
Nate Marshall
family, this is my name & a myth that i don’t own alone. i never even meant to have this name this just a happy accident of birth, an unhappy coincidence of intersecting histories, an abbreviation that became law.
Susan Mackervoy
I walk out from the tutorial. There are rooms with people reading, conversations. Mountainside, glimpsed through a window. I feel ancient, the oldest one here.

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