Alison C. Rollins
The boy is parenthesis,
his shoulders curved,
the huddled wings of a bird.
from the book
Library of Small Catastrophes /
Copper Canyon Press
What Sparks Poetry is a new, serialized feature in which we invite poets to explore experiences and ideas that spark new poems. In the first series, The Poems of Others, our editors pay homage to the poems that led them to write.
- May 25, 2019
Morgan Parker
You don't trust air. You call the ghosts
the angels your kin.
There is one who looks like your brother.
- May 24, 2019
Justyna Bargielska (translated from the Polish by Maria Jastrzębska)
Do you know what our odds are? Zero.
But I've learnt to play for time
- May 23, 2019
Danielle Weeks
When a girl in third grade stopped coming to school, we said she moved to Antarctica, or a witch turned her into a bird, or she swallowed too big of a marble and died.
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