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 …


Aria Aber  

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


Aria Aber

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


Kevin Young  

For now, the sting of being—


Kevin Young  

like an ambulance
       playing the tune
you cannot name…


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.


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  

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.

Information Desk

Robyn Schiff  

    You are an American Girl. Here you are in 
    an American Poem …


Vidyan Ravinthiran  

His father’s fists turned him mild as a Jain
to his son, me.


Vidyan Ravinthiran  

your phone is flashing with a work email;
our jobs aren’t safe and we still rent.

Study of Two Figures (Agave/Pentheus)

Monica Youn  

She said it was an Asian thing and then they stopped asking.

Four Days

Cornelius Eady

Since it didn’t happen the evening
Of whatever the hell Emmett Till did;

Deep Song

Cornelius Eady

These mother-fuckers,
These mother-fuckers
Won’t let me sing.


William Virgil Davis

Tonight, there are no stars.
This huge hooded dark
is like a deep sleep

The Night’s Cascade

Garrett Hongo

Lunch breaks, summer I was 20 clerking for the City, I’d sit on marble benches
across from the glass palace of DWP, over at the Mark Taper,


Warren Slesinger

The water worried me
when the gray face that floated over it
in lines and patches to the shore