Calvin Olsen’s “Pavilion” puts its fingers on the fragile things: the light, the grapes, the seeds, the lover. He weaves here the idyllic rural as gently and quietly as any introverted dead before him. Pavilion Tucked away under the…
The motion of m mick powell’s “poem in which my whole hand fits in my mouth” zooms and widens as if from a telescope: the fully focused hand, knuckled and scented, then the jaw, the braids, the dancing and fluorescent…
As an elegy, “Those First Days” asks us, with good humor and friendly temper, to reflect on loss, on being trapped in tragedy’s den while beauty softly pours itself over the earth outside. Fay Dillof is mesmerizing here: gentle and…
Kaja Lucas captures an essential modern and American element in “by you, I see only blue light”—the feed, the incessant reference to what has faded and what demands to stay alive. Almost a sonnet, almost an ode, almost, finally, morning.…
With “Weak Ode to Saffron,” Mehrnoosh Torbatnejad sets out to contain the luminous ingredient in language, in line breaks, in a New York Kitchen. But the saffron is too much, invites too much to be contained: love, Iran, the gnarled…
New month, new courage: submit yourself to these fellowships, magazines, awards and internships. Remember, too, acceptances and rejections are by-products of this journey—crafting your authentic art is the goal. And as always, submit poetry for free to our New Voices…
Lindsay Adkins’ series of poems meditates on the famous character of Jewish literature from a new point of view—revealing, in its turnings and its own unique violences, a brickwork story of a daughter’s redemptive eager. “Fathers are made in the…
Steven Duong’s poetry ripens with bodies, the struggle of skin—and he uses them as locus centers from which he can reach out to disparate realms of the universe and time to make new things of the old: ancient Rome and…
A delicate sonnet cycle, Sophie Klahr’s “PASS WITH CARE” trembles lightly as an inviting hand, stuck out the rolled down window of her car. Here is a road trip so softly lonely that you can’t help but want to hop…
Beyond an excellent title—who is Maddie? where is home?—Michael Hurley’s “Dead Maddie” crunches in the readers mouth: image and sound wonderfully in tune with themes of fragility and loss. Dear Maddie Spring has been cold but with newness +++++on the…
