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Sean Shearer
There were woods behind my house
scattered with berries I couldn’t digest. I’d curl on top of the dirt
hugging the knot inside my belly and now
I’m in bed kissing a pale green vein
as I listen to his voice like a knife with its scar—
six birds stretched
across a fret board.
Result Type
- Poem
Feature Date
- April 19, 2021
Tiana Nobile
Of an animal, especially a bird. A wandering species
whom no seas nor places limit. A seed who survives despite
the depths of hard winter. The ripple of a herring
steering her band from icy seas to warmer strands.
Result Type
- Poem
Feature Date
- April 18, 2021
Donald Revell
My mother's name was Doris,
A Greek unknown to her. Hidden
Among the wild herbs in their patterns
Are first things, and first things never die.
To them, the afterlife is a memory.
Result Type
- Poem
Feature Date
- April 17, 2021
Benjamín Naka-Hasebe Kingsley
as every thing begins with the heart beat of horses
a tribe the thudded color of all creation
my people gather brindle as if the night
were drizzled long across their backs she
of sickle sword of tendon & tusk
Result Type
- Poem
Feature Date
- April 16, 2021
Maria Stepanova (translated from the Russian by Sasha Dugdale)
they travelled a long time
longlongtime
dumbstruck stillstanding trees
not-earth and earth pressed close
builder's yards morgues fly-tips
Result Type
- Poem
Feature Date
- April 15, 2021
Diamond Forde
fat girl nicks herself shaving in the shower,
resents the water that will carry her
blood to sea. Blood, worthless currency,
cannot buy a country but becomes it,
platelets stitching into streets. fat girl weeps
for the blood that won't return—
Result Type
- Poem
Feature Date
- April 14, 2021
Cynthia Arrieu-King
I didn’t want to do it over in silk flowers
the main strands of staying here—
flowers made of yarn held behind the back,
a shore where splendor washed up
a glittery stone, a sun setting in its stripes.
Result Type
- Poem
Feature Date
- April 13, 2021
The premise of “When You Go Away,” is familiar: when the lover is separated from the beloved, the order of the world changes. Given the limits of this conventional subject, how did Merwin make a thing both faithful to its convention and new? I found an answer to my question in the complexity of the poem’s final lines: “my words are the garment of what I shall never be / Like the tucked sleeve of a one-armed boy.”
Result Type
- What Sparks Poetry
Feature Date
- April 12, 2021
Rosamond S. King
When someone’s son becomes a meat
offering on our block, they
hire one of us to scrub the blood
away – can understand that
but they’ve been scrubbing us away
painting over bronzed cherubs
Result Type
- Poem
Feature Date
- April 12, 2021
Arthur Sze
Adjusting the rearview mirror in the car before backing
out of the garage, I ask, What
is the logarithm of a dream? How do you trace a sphere
whose center is nowhere?
Result Type
- Poem
Feature Date
- April 11, 2021
