Adrian Rice: Among the Lavender
Honeybees spend their busy day
hovering among the lavender
with constant co-workers for company.
Barbara Hamby: Ode on Killing Sadness
the emcee said at the start
of the evening, “Here we are killing
sadness,” and the music did take the sting
out of the night
Laure-Anne Bosselaar: Brief
It happens so often: there — somewhere
in a line, waiting room or store — I see you,
& it’s something about your work-wrecked
hands, cow-lick, the perfect curl of your lips
Emily Cataneo: A New Chapter in the Quest for a Longer Life
In “Why We Die,” biologist and Nobel laureate Venki Ramakrishnan explores the science of aging and life extension.
Laurence Musgrove: All
We learn all kinds of things
Whether they are taught to us or not,
And nothing is more deeply learned than
What it means to be among our own.
James Crews: The Poetry of Connection and Joy | A Conversation with Michael Simms
My husband is a farmer, so we often wake up before first light, and I go off on my own with a big cup of coffee to scribble in my notebook for a few hours.
Doug Anderson: Carnivale
Saw them moving through the ground fog
like fly-casters moving against the stream
and the moon rolling with them
in the spun glass of it
Pascale Petit: Salt Bride
How long has Earth floated in her salt dress?
When did her bridal gown crystallise,
weighing her down like an anchor
inside a dead sea?
Chard deNiord: April
There is a new quality in the air: a sweet
fragrance from the first flowers—that smell
spring passes under your nose to wake you
again, more than wake you, stir you
Alice Friman: Puddles
As if overnight, the flowering pear tree
is flowering. A froth of white.
James Crews: We Are Constellations
So much coexists in the heart’s container,
as in a carved teak bowl on the table.
Bob Kunzinger: Moral Absolutism | Do Not Kill Children
Starvation is rampant and the conditions in Gaza have been called by Save the Children one of the “slowest, cruelest deaths” on record. It is a holocaust…
Pascale Petit: Hummer
The suitcase I found
on the shelf above his bed, with its jars
of mummified occupants, how I unwrapped
the photo curled around each hummingbird couple
like a sarcophagus
