Poetry

What to Donate

by Barbara Morales

Clothes in cuts of shirts, pants, coats, jackets, sweaters, blouses, nightgowns and robes. Not/ underwear or bras - throw these out. There’s too much of her in them to give ...

Can’t Tell You Much

by Jed Myers

In the frozen aisle’s uniform glare/ a tall boy stares. Not through the glass/ doors at tubs of ice cream or the stacked/ pizzas in cardboard. Through the air/ ahead, toward the checkout registers,

but I’m sure it’s nothing there, not the movie/ magazines, racks of chocolate bars, dyed/ carnation bouquets. I’d say he looks/ amazed by a scene in the near future.

Come to a standstill as if he means/ to keep what distance he can between/ himself and his premonition, he’s focused ...

Aubade

by A.E. Talbot

In golden underbrush and old growth, the wood-borer/ opens timber to light. The bracken thorns ...

Thanksgivings

by Laura Villareal

San Marcos, Texas

Around noon the sheriff pulled up at my aunt’s house./ My cousins had been ...

What an Arroyo Can Do

By Sarah Sarai

It is possible for an arroyo to hold water, / just as a gutter, one of its definitions, can. ...

On the Semi-Frozen Sanabria

By Ernesto L. Abeytia

My brother laughs, bets he can cross
Without falling through.

We know he can’t—
The ice is too thin. ...

Tethers

By Darby Price

If those without memory live nowhere/ then the reverse must be true and/ we live everywhere at once, in places/ exhumed, reanimated/ so often we forget their names/ We forget so much these days:/ which road took us to St. Mark’s/ where the lighthouse was/ the native names of rivers/ we threw ourselves into/ pale buoyant bodies illuminating/ ancient sinkholes/ in woods we can’t recall heat lightning guttering/ in far-off clouds/ How many years since/ the rope swing/ parabola leap/ How many years/ since the killdeer’s call bored into us ...

Full Gallop

By Jill MCELDOWNEY

I return to the house a little more burned,/ a little more/ peopled by your faces turned toward that horserace/ the past/ where we are from, where winter ...

THE LIGHT THAT FOUND OUR FLESH

By Marcus Jackson

The rain was righteous and godless,/ and when together, in a room during such rain,/ our concerns took on the disposition/ of a purse full of shattered glass. ...

Double Exposures

By Madhu H. Kaza

I walked down the street towards the subway attentive to the shifting geography ahead, to the uneven sidewalk, which looked as though an active fault line ran below. ...

Genesis 1:27

By Paul Tran

If nobody believes a liar/ when they tell the truth,/ then imagine it reversed:/ the villagers sent home/ from the field with nothing/ but disappointing gossip. ...

Stanzas to Those Just Arriving

By Rae Gouirand

Once in autumn’s ease date palm branches/ swung over my back, sugars creamed inside their skins—/ I’d never have guessed owls would nest in
anything called the phoenix, that we’d practice confessions/ watching their shapes come and go on the way out/ to prey. But night hung beautifully and/ time practiced meaningless phrases. These I didn’t pick/ but pitted for us, amber in their red skins, so syrupy/ and rich. Somehow they crystallize both ... heaviness and light—

My Friend Asked Me To Teach Her Daughter To Kickbox

By Jenny Liou

And so I drove through February to find a twelve-year old/ outside in shorts, a t-shirt, and boxing gloves. She’s strong enough to/ hurt me, if I let her, and she learns the way a child learns, her whole/ heart behind every punch. ...

Communis

By Ryan Canlas

The honeysuckle’s taste went white down our backs. Grass became soft bones and sun. We searched without knowing it for a sense of a collective. The pollen/ glossed our skin and we tongued it ...

America’s Got Talent

By Jenny Browne

A one night stand in Jackson, Mississippi./ The soft opening outside Cheyenne./ There’s a laughing gull on Miami Beach/ & the ampersand tattoo you didn’t/ regret getting in Portland ...

The Laughter Age

By July Westhale

When I am there, many empires from now/ laughter will be a thing of the past. The Laughter Age./ Which will have ruled longer than the Ottoman,/ but not as long as the Byzantine. Which will have/ kept us in stitches and fits long enough to notice/ its absence, but not enough to remember its balm./ You will buy me a gyro wrapped in the news, since/ many things change but some do not, and we still need/ print journalism. It remains a flea market, though pests ...