trenches

Friday Pick: Summer Reads

  It's that time of year again. The days are getting longer, the heat is getting hotter, and the fecund cicadas are grinding their tired music...
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Elizabeth Arnold (portrait)

Elizabeth Arnold

Every volcano has its own voice. // Some are operatic. / Others have // no singing talent whatsoever.

Peter Campion

Peter Campion

She checks beyond their reflected skins, and finds / no watcher in the blinking lines of snow. / There must be someone, though. Not just your mind.

Photo by Michal Placzek

Janusz Rudnicki

How to swallow this new development: the theft of a TV set in the shape of a dog. The earth spins on my account today. My heart rings like a bell, bells are ringing in my ears, I can’t hear a thing.

burt-kimmelman

Friday Pick: Gradually The World

There is a delicacy to Kimmelman’s language, a gauzy diction that seems to barely hold together, yet allows the subject of inquiry or observation to show through, giving it respectful precedence.

Whitaker Photo

Kayla Rae Whitaker

Lorla snapped off the TV. “Where are we going?” Matthew said. “Kentucky.” “Are we coming back?” “No.”

Ernest Hilbert

Ernest Hilbert

We’ve entered the land of Jesus, Jacuzzis, / And jet skis.

Sasha Banks

Sasha Banks

How the axe humbles the wood / to a stacked history / of its noosed unions to this skin. / A clean cut. And now, / so much firewood.

bird

Friday Pick: Kansas City Lightning

It is hard to overestimate Charlie Parker's influence on American culture. The poet Charles Olson, when asked about the poetic in his circle of the post-war literary avant garde, said "Boy, there was no poetic. It was Charlie Parker. Literally, it was Charlie Parker."

photo by Carolina Ebeid

Anthony Madrid

We look back on the Middle Ages and say they could not read. / One day we’ll be somebody’s Middle Ages; they’ll say we could not read.

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