Martina Reisz Newberry: Nüshu
Games of innocence, death of innocence,
scent of longing…pray to these lesser gods,
my dears, that they will jump into the way
of what comes for us.
Rachel Hadas: Camilla
Our newborn granddaughter is named Camilla
from Aeneid VII’s warrior maiden,
the speedy runner, skimming over wheat,
scouring the ocean, keeping her feet dry.
Video: Spoon
In this visual poem, Markus Kempken explores specific objects — spoons, spatulas, flutes — and the way they trigger memories of his childhood abuse.
Bhikshuni Anopam: The Price
All my suitors started off talking about beauty, and ended up talking about money.
Doug Anderson: What time does to love
I know the spring is there.
I walk over it and feel its pull.
Rick Campbell: English House Sparrows in the Consol Energy Center
The House Sparrow–Old World import, the first Brooklyn birds captured, purchased, transported in cages–we ignored till they overran natives, ravaged crops, windowsills, and eventually, hockey arenas.
Majid Naficy: Billie Holiday
I walk gently on the skin of the sea.
A wandering wind wraps around our bodies
And an albatross opens its wings on our shoulders.
Kathleen O’Toole: First Street Shiva for RBG
Think of all the prayers rising
today with daughters and granddaughters held up
to see her uplifted catafalque, its red, white and blue
against the white marble
Nina Kossman: Giordano Bruno’s Unwritten Letter
He didn’t have time to complete the letter
which he was composing in his head,
as the flames were beginning to engulf his body
Judith Sanders: The Rubber Woman
I have a thousand uses:
crash dummy, sex toy, punching bag, life raft.
Aidan Rooney: Think Back | Emmelie Prophète
Think back, some day,
to this dismembered city,
its sounds, squalor and dolor.
Kristofer Collins: Vigil
Later still I’ll dream of those four o’clock winds
crashing my body as the late sun wavered
querulously over San Francisco and I’ll tell
myself I loved there, I was loving and loved
Deborah Bogen: Sisters
I’m the last sister standing — but tonight I mean to lie down, to practice being in the box
James Joyce: Thus the Unfacts
Someday duly, oneday truly, twosday newly, till whensday.
