Sandy Solomon: In Deepest February
The heavy snow has split the oak out front,
its right branch lodges in a parked car’s roof
and splays across the windshield and the hood.
Martina Reisz Newberry: Romans
We will look back at the last of the sunflowers leaning so low, and we’ll recall the “end times,” swooning at the way the brown sky infiltrated houses
Leslie Anne Mcilroy: Call Back
The pink half-gown is tied wrong.
I can’t figure out the strings.
My nipples are hard in the
fluorescent waiting room.
Mike James: Trying to Pray
Some nights I dream of hands holding water
Some nights they are a man’s hands
Some nights a woman’s
Rick Campbell: The God Particle
This god particle, if found, might provide light
and warmth, or another weapon capable
of ending time as we know it and sending us
into the dark where even a God can’t save us.
Jorge Guillén: Death in the Distance
What’s urgent is the ripe
Fruit. The hand already peels it.
Sydney Lea: Gradus ad Parnassum
On the other hand, the open handed
blows left scarce a mark, applied to your head or neck
Sharon Fagan McDermott: Parli Italiano
Language is a song of loose coins, spilling down
from the fountains. Then bells of the Duomo ring
out over Firenze.
Willem Kusserow-Lair: The Cycle
Don’t let anyone tell you anything is separate in this world.
Sally Bliumis-Dunn: Beaked Whales Should Not Be Spotted Near a Coast
Low tide and all we hear
is the whale’s terrible breathing,
its body drying out
Video: Negative Space
Based on a 150-word poem by Ron Koertge, “Negative Space” is a short animated film that depicts a father-and-son relationship through the art of packing a suitcase.
Michael Simms: Dust
The distinct nothingness of my life
suddenly seems glorious,
a particle of dust dancing in the light
beside eight billion others
Jena Schwartz: Writing Prompt # 4 |The Book of Secrets
I find this to be such a comforting notion, that if we listen carefully, we can remember things we knew before we were born.
Marina Tsvetaeva: Thank God for the Rich
For their root, putrid and loose,
For their weeping-wound from the cradle,
For their perplexing habit of taking
More from my pocket into their pocket.
