Tag / poetry

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  • Terror Management Theory – Emma Bolden

    To think when I was a child all of my adults walked into & out of doors like I now do, fearing death & taxes, tasting the bitter tongue of some ending…
  • In the Blue Hue of Morning – Jason D. Ramsey

    For C. Dead birds canvas brushwood in the clearing. You point & name them as we pass – flycatcher, nightjar, wren – flat- voiced, as if reading to a crowd. You’re eleven.…
  • There Is Wind – Jack B. Bedell

    Yes, there is wind. And waves. For now, the ghosts of trees and lines of reeds remain. The water, though, rises. It warms. It rolls in like it always has. It eats…
  • Mouse Bones, Too – Theodore Worozbyt

    One might expect a very small house to be made of them. It isn’t so. It’s time to confess, and I will. Tomato skeletons hiss with scarlet caviar, likewise delicately crisp mouse…
  • Scar Tissue – Christine Taylor

    Wind battered the house for an age and I spent the better part of my day off rehanging the gutters that fell in last night’s thunderstorm hours consumed watching online videos to…
  • Rain In March – Romana Iorga

    1. It’s always the same every year: rescue teams fight the current, pick up the oddballs who wished for excitement and got plenty. Those who thrash about in the shallows, certain they’ll…
  • The Lady In Saffron – Priyanka Sacheti

    A lady in saffron poles through a drowsed lake: a man stands still, counting fish that dart in and out of the submerged forest. If the fish are birds, where then are…
  • Threshold – Katherine Fallon

    Early, in our separate rooms, we were wrong to believe in a middling, an I, the illusion of self within the chimera of family. When he lifted our doors from their hinges,…
  • A History of Handiwork – Sarah Nance

    The last summer of your illness—I mean: your last summer—you did the chores you’d always done,              another summer in a long line of summers, but also this: you put things in…
  • & Delilah – Brandon Thurman

    On the wet bed of stones by the creek, you slip your sharpened scissors along the nape of my neck, & madness itches down my shirtless back, a second life of cells…