Eileen Cleary’s 2 a.m. with Keats | Friday Pick
These captivating poems dedicated to Keats and Lucie Brock-Boido pay equal attention to the visible and the invisible worlds—and seem hauntingly comfortable in both.
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A. N. DeJesús
A different me is silhouetted in the lit windows of every house I drive //
past – me: reading a book, me: making dinner, me: alone staring back.
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Lucy Tunstall
It was growing dark in the garden. I felt, suddenly, enormous, as vast as the night. I could see all the way to California, where two little girls dragged their unwheeled suitcases through a cavernous airport
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Radka Thea Otípková
I am waiting for you. Part of my wall /
will need to go to get you in. It will /
never heal. This is how they’ll find me, /
small, perfunctory, unfit for a king, but /
I’ll hold it all
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Genta Nishku
We moved along, discussing this injustice. It was small in the larger scope of the war, and all-consuming for one woman
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