Poetry

Guilt

Victoria Chang

Last month, my father fell again and I walked through him for the third time.

Salonica

Paul Muldoon  

In the Archaeological Museum there’s at least one artifact
for which the use is no longer known.

A Doll's House

Laura Kasischke  

The thing you never dared to fear
will never make its way in here.

Drachma

Laura Kasischke  

What I want is that
lost shoebox full of faded snapshots back.

Meeting

Vijay Seshadri  

When I knew you, I had time for mine.

Birding

Vijay Seshadri  

The sun itself a larger bird, 
its wings manufacturing 
the solar wind

Double Major

Major Jackson  

Tragically, he believes he can mend 
his wounds with his poetry.

Waiting for the Rain

Angela Gardner  

Turbulent paradise, thirsting.

After Callimachus

Stephanie Burt  

People are different, too

Song with Day Glo & Jelly

Tess Taylor  

Sometimes I can hear the buried stream.

The Bees

Victoria Chang

The detaching icebergs crushed the bees
who used to fly over conference rooms.

Take My Vows

Dorothy Parker

From the Review, Autumn, 1930.

In Those Years

Adrienne Rich

From the Review, January, 1992.

Folio: A New Direction in American Poetry

Where lyric meets narrative  

Why has a kind of prosaic poetry suddenly become so appealing?

First Snow

Aria Aber  

                                              Hunger borders
this land, while snow turns all to immigrants …

Nostos

Aria Aber  

Lately I’ve been moved by how
the skeletons were found …

Hades

Aria Aber

Where did he go? I asked.
Where do the missing ever go?

Sting

Kevin Young  

For now, the sting of being—

Halter

Kevin Young  

like an ambulance
       playing the tune
you cannot name…

Ceremony

Margaret Ross  

People without
anger are more developed. 

Greenish Picture

Margaret Ross  

There were too many doors; there were
two right in the middle of a hallway. Some 
you couldn’t open without closing 
others facing them.

Blood

Margaret Ross  

Thirty white people wearing white and posing
by the sea. Actually, two of them
wear blue…

Bent Lyre

Sandra Lim  

The pigeons ran around in berserk patterns outside.
Our warm, clandestine complicity had the force of a new actuality.

The Stronger

Sandra Lim  

With me, life becomes sweeter, 
so she loses some of
the ability to defend herself. 

San Francisco

Sandra Lim  

When we met later in the alley to take out the trash, we would reliably 
turn into two lumps of fear.

Sestina Where Every End Word Is Lyndon Johnson

Sasha Debevec-McKenney  

I hate Lyndon Johnson until I love Lyndon Johnson…

When I Met Sharon Olds She Told Me to Write A Poem About LBJ’s Penis

Sasha Debevec-McKenney  

                                                               Gather
the video girls. Tell them to twerk to this …

The Hell Test (Seven Springs)

Daniel Poppick  

I had been raised as a Reform Jew—in other words, an agnostic worshipper of narrative …

Don't Let Me Down

Sarah Trudgeon  

My husband says he doesn’t really like
short stories, says only novels
capture the human experience.

For Alain

Anaïs Duplan  

I missed my father. I ate wax in my impatience.