What Millennials Want

by Rosamund Taylor

 

We want to weigh 150 tonnes
and be covered in grey-blue skin
smooth as oil. We want our lungs
to deflate into our chests
when we hunt
the midnight zone

Contagion

by Siobhan Campbell

 

When the arena of war shifted to the planet,
when we listened for the scrape of pangolin nails,
the black beat of rhinos, the crex of corncrakes
who would not …

Knotwork

by Jessica Traynor

 

a knot for the nettles and ditches
   a knot for the ragwort’s scald
a knot for the ghosts at the holy well
   a knot for the missing child

a knot for …

White-tailed Eagles

by Jane Clarke

 

Iolair Mhara

Two eagles lock talons in mid-flight
and tumble together towards the water

    as if they’ll never stop falling,

but they disentangle just in time
and ascend to the top

    of …

LETTER FROM THE COUNTRY

by Fred Schmalz

 

My brother
what do I do now

with my impulse
to tie our shoes together

and launch them into the wire
the way I think

you think
sublime vistas are conjured

I prepare a …

Tet Singing Cure (Almost a Ghost)

by Hoa Nguyen

 

for children and their caretakers during wartime

Co Tu sang   not sleeping
  the lamp lit
one year old toddler me near-death
war attack aftermath with stomach sickness

In Morning

by Naomi Shihab Nye

 

The Palestinian child
does not think about being Palestinian,
but only of how his kitten
slept last night
and why is it not
in its basket.
Before he walks to …

Flood Potential

by Jennifer Kronovet

 

That’s far enough, I yell across the dry
riverbed where twigs shoot up between rocks
with leaves like mistaken tenses: was, were,
watch. That’s far enough—wrenching
the children from their …

to us in early winter

by Dong Li

when it is time
the sun sets pink on the birch
and it will be winter
we are no stranger than we were
gingered joy will have melted after
icicles …

The High-Flying Birds

By YE Hui, translated by Dong LI

Music does not matter

 

Not much poetry to read

 

The fresh air by the lake

Only helpful to the lungs

 

Throughout the year, I rarely dream

But meditate a few times

 

My life depends on others

 

Some …

Can you tell me:

by Erica Hunt

If words attire thought

what is thinking

when carnage is daily weather—met with an itch

to switch the channel—a call to the misnamed

Department of Public Safety to confront gun awe—

no words–but flesh is …

I Watch Star Trek So I Don’t Throw Myself Under a Bus

by Amy M. Alvarez

Have I become cynical? Probably. Anxiety
mounts the horse of optimism and drives

her into the ground. There is no here here
and I am trapped in the melody of mountain

and …