Dion O’Reilly: Post Anthropocene
Can we imagine such emptiness? Such quiet.
Every bit of us, gone: the jackal-mouthed
and gospel-wild, razor wire
keeping out the needful
of our kind, even the ruins of holy cities
Brad Davis: On the Way to Putnam
in late summer’s
westering light,
his yellow cornfields and,
toward the middle,
that lone, misshapen tree
Susan Kelly-DeWitt: Sunrise at the River
The light steps forth out of the heatand darkness, out of the stillnessand ghost-lit world while I feel the dead staring downat me from some other shoreas if I was … Continue reading
Molly Fisk: The Northeast Edge of Normal
parents of children
I’ll never meet are gone into the open
arms of the sky and the sea and their
sons and daughters with them how
can this happen again
Video: Jane Goodall Asks What Separates Us From Chimpanzees?
Jane Goodall says the only real difference between humans and chimps is our sophisticated language. She urges us to start using it to change the world.
M. C. Benner Dixon: Will Pull Weeds for Cash
It was a good summer job for a college kid. A quick drive down Old Plains Road, past the AT&T tower, and pull in at one of the innumerable fieldstone … Continue reading
Derrick Z. Jackson: Protecting Puffins in Maine Is an Emotional Commitment
After contorting under boulders for puffin chicks, chasing skittish tern chicks in the weeds and sitting as stone-silent sentinels in bird blinds to observe feeding and behavior, the five-person research crew on Seal Island relaxed in their work cabin in the orange and purple sunset glow.
Roberta Hatcher: Two Poems
In February that year a man entered the wilderness,
drifted down a river forty days and forty nights.
He emerged to a world utterly transformed.
Mark Danowsky: The Rocky Mountain Locust Surge
One story is about the farmer
who just started running
right into the black mass
Laure-Anne Bosselaar: Ode to Sungolds
Sungolds, coughed my old neighbor, a bird
shat the seed.
David Lauterstein: Lulav
I am a Jew. I am ashamed of those wanting to kill.
The people of Gaza shake their own bodies
in six directions, with nowhere to go,
their only harvest, soil.
Hayden Saunier: Augury, 2025
Seven black starlings
settle in the sycamore’s bony crown
like an idea taking shape
or a sign we once knew how to read.
Michael Simms: Serene Gorilla in a Cloud of Butterflies
Her name is Malui and she is walking through a cloud of butterflies she’s disturbed.
Baron Wormser: On a Sentence by Albert Camus
Sometimes, the illness of our world, the death-in-life that turns nature into nothing more than the source of raw material, seems so boundless that throwing the lasso of language on it seems impossible.
