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Poetry

Poetry

The Wisdom Package

I ask the youngish eye doctor why my eyes itch / and burn and why new floaty bits / of paramecium-shaped debris swim // through my view each day

By Hayden Saunier May 2024
Poetry

My Mother’s Disease Introduces Me to My Mother

My mother’s disease wants / to know my name. // My mother’s disease takes / me in // with my mother’s eyes.

By Michael Mark May 2024
Poetry

My Father Not the Sky

My dad used to wake us up at 5 AM on Sundays / with the vacuum cleaner, saying, Get out of bed, / the day is wasting, and then he’d be asleep on the couch // by nine, just as the sun began to lift its head / over the houses.

By Angela Voras-Hills May 2024
Poetry

Happysad

Gobbling tortilla chips with gleeful abandon, I forget to chew, and one triangle catches in my throat. Instantaneous panic. Sudden, deep, mammalian fear.

By Leath Tonino April 2024
Poetry

Dear Woman Who Tried to Pick Me Up at a Hollywood Club in 1998

What if I’d said yes? Imagine I go home with you that night, / when I’m twenty, and when we wake up in the morning, / you ask, You know you snore? You laugh at my / nighttime retainer, which I’ll wear for the rest of my life, and say, You look hot.

By Chrys Tobey April 2024
Poetry

In the Freezer

she kept pig haunches, / the shoulder joints of cows, / buffalo neck and guts, / all stuck to the ziplock bags. / If anyone ever asked, / Mother simply laughed.

By Jodie Hollander April 2024
Poetry

Pink Suede Boots

Decades old now, / but the leather’s held up, and the curve / of the instep is still elegant. / I gave them away to my goddaughter, sixteen / and blossoming.

By Alison Luterman March 2024
Poetry

When I Come to Get My Things

I am amazed at how much of my shit I left / with her, and to see it piled in her hallway / clears space in me for what? // I wander my new emptiness / as the small bag of her things I’ve brought / weighs down my hand

By Matthew Siegel March 2024
Poetry

King Rail Reserve

Wind-plowed furrows in ice across the marsh. / Cattails frozen suppliant. Loosestrife withered // colorless under a bright but ineffective sun.

By Glenn Stowell March 2024
Poetry

Noah’s Wife

Noah, his swelled head, his ego larger than the ark, his crazy / self-promoting savior mania. Because of him we dropped / everything, sank our fortune in cypress wood, and every / filthy creature we couldn’t trap we had to buy with our last coin.

By Wendy Drexler February 2024
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