Robin Wyatt Dunn

  LISTENING AT THE EDGES   1. I hid in the church after they left. Some of the stained glass had been broken, and the plain...
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F. Daniel Rzicznek

He chooses so late // and I fail to swerve—

Tania Hershman

I want to be the only / surgeon in the world / who knows how / to cut you open, stitch / you up.

Ales Steger

The chauffeur takes off his blindfold and leaves him in front of an unfamiliar villa by a lake. The door opens to a dim living room. Crackling embers in the fireplace. Some twenty masked people, cloaked in black habits.

Stephen Burt’s The Poem Is You | Friday Pick

Burt’s new book is an intriguing hybrid – anthology, introduction, and critical study all at once.

Deborah Allbritain

Sometimes I dream of that boy on his deathbed, calling for water, // a cold cloth, just before he dies, the atoms of him beginning to collapse

Joanne Diaz

When I look up, I see the prophecy of Venus / sprawled across the stars: I will tell you, and you will wonder / at the way old crimes lead to monstrosities.

In Memoriam: Derek Walcott

At a dinner following a reading with Joseph Brodsky, the Russian poet was monosyllabic in the company of college faculty he didn’t know. Derek noticed and stood up from his chair. He swept arms around the table, leaned toward Brodsky and said, “Joseph, these are my friends. Be nice.”

Elizabeth Knapp

Tonight the cicadas are deafening. / Nothing to do but lean into despair / the way one leans into a mirror.

Michael Collier

Moments that were tender, if I can use that word, now rendered in memory’s worn face, have names attached and, less vivid, places ...

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