Danusha Laméris
I think of how I've come to call her sister, dropping the suffix. We've known each other since she was three and I was six. And I don't know what a sister is if not an other, a fragile mirror, space of tenderness. Female, and mortal, and afraid.
from the journal The Southern Review

What Sparks Poetry is a serialized feature in which we invite poets to explore experiences and ideas that spark new poems.

In our occasional series, Building Community, we spotlight connections between our work on the page and our work in the community. In each issue, we pair a poem and writing prompt from our featured poet with an interview that explores what poetry brings to our neighborhoods, cities, and the wider world – and what community makes possible for poetry itself.

Rosemarie Dombrowski on Public Poetry and Public Health
Photo: Rosemarie Dombrowski
Parker Hobson
There is a thin, curvy line between laughter and slaughter, I try yelling to you on the roller coaster but my timing is off, our shark bodies flung into runaway cursive, vestigial Converses dragging serifs across the clouds.
Derrick Austin
              Today I'm happy by myself wandering this creek's paths of sand and crushed shells,               what used to be submerged.
Jane Wong
Above: my neighbor's feet,                         fussing from room to room,                 velvet hooves                     tendering my head. Was the fruitcake curdling? Would the mail make it there on time? (it must                 make it there on time)?
Rosemarie Dombrowski
that the inventory of the body is equivalent to the trauma that comes from crop-dust in our eyes . . .

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