Mutanabbi Street
By Jody BolzPages flit above the ruined bookstalls.
Blank or dark with words, it doesn’t matter:
paper is as dangerous as ink—as thought.
Search Results
Maine
By Carly SachsWhere does memory go?
Our windows looking out on the bay,
my wet clothes hanging on the antlers
Understanding Tina Turner
By Tara BettsQuiet girl found a voice mama could not quell
inside Nutbush City Limits. The baby
blasted beyond timid Annie Mae into Tina
That Pomegranate Shine
By Lori DesrosiersI was the wrong kind of bride,
more sweat than glisten,
more peach than pomegranate.
Eye
By Lee SharkeyWhat do you do with an eye in the cup of your hand?
What do you see that you didn't?
What do you make of a sphere of jelly with fins of torn muscle?
If You Leave Your Shoes
By Joseph RossIf you leave your shoes
on the front porch
when you run
After The UPS Man Shouted “Feed Your Baby At Home” Through His Truck Window
By Melisa Cahnmann-TaylorBionic Feeding Woman
whips breasts out, sprays
privacy netting over him
lynch
By Martha Collinsnot as in pin, the kind that keeps the wheels
turning, and not the strip of land that marks
the border between two fields. unrelated
America, I Sing Back
By Allison Adelle Hedge CokeAmerica, I sing back. Sing back what sung you in.
Sing back the moment you cherished breath.
Sing you home into yourself and back to reaso
Zen of Tipping
By Jan BeattyMy friend Lou
used to walk up to strangers
and tip them - no, really -