I don’t want to wait till the moment of my dying
to realize what I have ignored all my life.
I want you to climb me. Climb me because I want you
to know the wounds on my body are not mere conjectures.
I don’t want to drink to my imagination before
understanding the dialects of living.
I don’t want to be stationed at the interpretative bridge to
realize that I have for a long …
Every year, we award the annual Zócalo Poetry Prize to the poem that best evokes a connection to place. Zócalo is pleased to recognize …
Every year, we award the annual Zócalo Poetry Prize to the poem that best evokes a connection to place. Zócalo is pleased to recognize …
In 2013, my wife and I rented an apartment in Výtoň, a classic urban neighborhood south of the tourist-packed city center of Prague. This wasn’t my first move to the …
Every year, we award the annual Zócalo Poetry Prize to the poem that best evokes a connection to place. Zócalo is pleased to recognize …
Every year, we award the annual Zócalo Poetry Prize to the poem that best evokes a connection to place. Zócalo is pleased to recognize …
I wanted to tell you that I loved you So you would let me use your Chapstick So we could plant a turnip garden And fight in the Trader Joe’s …
It hasn’t been a hard day, but the clouds are taking their retreat. I want to write for them a way to cultivate new shape. Which means – I want …
Briny and smiling, he stood in the kitchen, pulled me over to the pot, lifted the lid: an odd insect with pomegranate- seed eyes waved its feelers like awkward chopsticks.
It’s not the first time I’ve walked in woods with my son, now thirty two, who squats like a frog about to hop off the log’s edge. It’s not the …
