Zyklon B
By Julie EnszerThe painters call before we move into the new house. Ma’am, they say—
I am not old enough to be a ma’am, but I don’t correct them—
Ma’am, they say, we smell gas.
I dismiss their concern. I say, Keep painting.
Search Results
A Wet Daydream
By Nadia SheikhI let Shane Kennedy
reach back in his desk
to fondle my calf,
soft and buttery
Theodicy
By Joshua BennettWhen yet another one of your kin falls,
you question God’s wingspan, the architecture
of mercy.
Elegy
By Rachel Eliza GriffithsI remember the boys & their open hands. High fives
of farewell. I remember that the birches waved too,
the white jagged limbs turning away from incessant wildfires
bitter crop
By Kelli Stevens Kaneblueberry blackberry as always
bleeding, back road or boulevard,
our boy crowned with baton,
First Morning Poem
By Allison Adelle Hedge CokeIn a room facing chimneys
over the place Nancy Morejón rests
between sleeps lining free lines
she whispers to hearing DC:
Amphibians
By Joseph O. LegaspiAmphibians live in both.
Immigrants leave their land,
hardening in the sea.
Out of water.
