Ohio Ohio
Who am I to say that the hawk circling above the deck wasn’t really the murdered sister of our host, as she insisted? Who says the dead stay dead, or even human—for all I know our…
Apr 20, 2023 / Books & the Arts / Kim Addonizio
The City Wears a Coat to Bed The City Wears a Coat to Bed
The white army of winter spreads across the city. Boilers and radiators die in their sleep, their skin cold to the touch in the morning. The city wears a coat to bed. The city watc…
Apr 1, 2023 / Books & the Arts / Martín Espada
Brother Leaves Voicemails from CPEP Brother Leaves Voicemails from CPEP
Alex, any time, and at a moment’s notice you should give me the number I ask for. Unlock my phone, my money Somebody fucking stole my Gucci scarf And tell mom my son is not her chi…
Mar 21, 2023 / Books & the Arts / Alexandra Watson
Three Short Poems Three Short Poems
ORACULAR: THE WOMAN IN THE ARMCHAIR SPEAKS The beings after the Anthropocene will be formed of inorganic matter they will be not unfeeling they will study us the way we study the n…
Jan 24, 2023 / Books & the Arts / Alicia Ostriker
Congo: Curriculum Vitae (excerpt) Congo: Curriculum Vitae (excerpt)
[When one of us goes] When one of us goes to the other world, we gather and weep so that the ocean of our tears may take the deceased to their final resting place. [The path of lif…
Dec 13, 2022 / Books & the Arts / Alain Mabanckou
A Suit or a Suitcase A Suit or a Suitcase
You ask what I’ll miss about this life. Everything but cruelty, I think. But you want one specific thing, so here—I’ll miss my body. I’ll miss its companionship, how it’s tr…
Nov 23, 2022 / Poems / Maggie Smith
The Average Driver Will Be in a Car Accident Once Every Eighteen Years The Average Driver Will Be in a Car Accident Once Every Eighteen Years
Moonship comes when I’m on the road, A/C on, music on, the inside still in, then—zam—wind, unshielded crescents of moon, the body gone, tearing through space at 60 miles per…
Nov 17, 2022 / Poems / Nomi Stone
The Limits of Language The Limits of Language
it was something about the bounce in my step, in the rippling jiggle of my belly & breasts, something about the periwinkle painted pinkies, the purple pointers, the chipping it…
Nov 15, 2022 / Books & the Arts / Aerik Francis
Kehua / I used to want to be the bait that caught Te Ika Kehua / I used to want to be the bait that caught Te Ika
I lost my nerve for spirits when I was sixteen. Spent that whole spring playing chicken and betraying my grandparents’ liquor cabinets for homies who were too cool to say th…
Nov 10, 2022 / Poems / Tayi Tibble