Shangyang Fang
Her cardamom-like nipples bloomed in the mahogany frame
of the mirror. She felt at ease. Perhaps she thought I was still
too young? That I was more of a boy than a man?
Or perhaps she saw that day, by the rosemary alley,
a boy kissing my lips. He tasted like blueberries.
from the book
Burying the Mountain /
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 Books We’ve Loved, we asked our editorial board members to reflect on a book that has been particularly meaningful to them in the last year, with the intention of creating a list of book recommendations for our valued readers.
- September 15, 2021
Paul Valéry (translated from the French by Nathaniel Rudavsky-Brody)
I was waiting for who knows whom? (You? or day—or—)
A thought came.
- September 14, 2021
Anna Maria Hong
Red fox, paws planted, staring back on the human
path, sprung to the woods sifting autumn's
dark rot, annamaya kosha:
first beam.
- September 13, 2021
Denise Levertov
The flawed moon
acts on the truth, and makes
an autumn of tentative
silences.
- September 12, 2021
Rachelle Toarmino
there are fresh coats of paint
and a world in my mouth!
adhesive doubts
live in the hairs on my tongue!
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Each member of our diverse board selects poems for our daily poem feature and works with us to identify new outstanding, interesting publications for our thousands of daily readers.
