Poetry

Because of their format, several poems that appear in the current issue are included only in pdf. To read them, click on their titles on the right side of this page.

Zoë Hitzig

 

A test. In a morning
Blue suit the Census taker
Drops his credentials
And picks them up

James Arthur

 

The museum was closed, so no one saw
the statue of Adam
tumble to the floor, and break. No one saw
the plywood pedestal
 

John Koethe

 

We’re always other people, whoever they are.
I’m grateful to poets’ biographies—a genre nearly as
Obsolete as its subjects—for helping me make myself up,

Susan Barba

 

Let me
let you
make me
proud.

Susan Barba

 

The closest we can come
to the unseen
plumes of scent
spun by a spindle

Peter Cameron

 

It chafes you, I know, this
Remorseless penchant for drama
I have. Life is too short

Jeffrey Harrison

was alive: small creatures aglow and crawling
one after the other down each tall green blade—
thousands of them bending at all angles—

Nicholas Friedman

You hunker underneath a shaggy fir,
shifting when sunlight shifts its bit of shade,
and eat a single almond every hour.

Christina Pugh

The bank of cloud that night was like a smoother
lamb’s wool, a fistful you’d pull to stuff
a pointe shoe for ballet class.  Or maybe the cloud
bank was more like the tiny cotton coverlet

Christina Pugh

A white jar dissolves into the whitish background
that gently presses its narrow form upright.  Morandi’s
ceramics must be manna for the eye, I think.  Here,
their proximity makes several forms seem melded—