"You’re the type who’d murder. I’m the one who eyes his own wrists. Should we wed and spend life thwarting one another?…” Read the rest of the poem at Salmagundi
"In the dimly lit diner, he sipped his coffee and said: pass the hospital. On the table, funerals sat dirty on plates. I looked into his empty playground and only heard grass stains, or monkey bars All the slides were dressed in black…” Read the rest of the poem at deComp.
“Star anise floats in the night–sea of meat bone tea, backed by the cloud–flower shapes of lingusticum. Astragalus, codonopsis, and licorice lashed into a raft drift among goji berries swimming like vermillion carp… Astragalus, codonopsis, and licorice lashed into a raft drift among goji berries swimming like vermillion carp… …the raft touches the riverbank. Broth... Continue Reading →
I love the concept behind landscape/heartbreak as much as its gorgeous poetry. The poems were written by Michelle Peñaloza for different people, some total strangers before this project, who took her on walks to various places around Seattle where their hearts had been broken – whether by breakups or death. A strong sense of place and movement... Continue Reading →
“Icarus is not for us. He flies and falls, that’s all. He doesn’t joke to hide his fear, or seem ashamed… He’s young and proud. He likes the sound of his own voice. Of course the world must break and scatter him among the falling birds. It’s never him. His father, Daedalus— he’s our muse,... Continue Reading →
”what table set of your bone what silver what flesh dream of your throat what melting what flavor cumin currant coconut your clavicle mantle for my mandible what wishbone split cracked and tasted rooms and rooms of your marrow…” Read the rest of the poem at Washington Square Review.
"…Oh, the cold. Her cars. Her famously bad driving. My cousin Tommy once rode a hundred miles on the floor because he was too terrified to chance a look out the window. Even my husband, my new, second, husband, whose calm, judicious nature my mother and I both loved, threatened to jump out the door... Continue Reading →
“Now the lights coiled white in dogwood trees, now the graying father at the door, now the wooden angels on the walls. Now the suitcase in the childhood room, now the glow stars dead on the ceiling, now the dog that barks at nothing. Now the forsythia shedding its opposite leaves, now the sky lifting... Continue Reading →
Susan Swartwout’s exquisite poetry collection, Odd Beauty, Strange Fruit, captures, under dirty mason jar glass, a visceral, grotesque, and, at times, beautifully demented circus of Southern Gothic aesthetics. “When our eyes have opened to shadows in mote-thick air of the circus tent, when old men’s droning of what circus once was and mothers’ sibilant scolding to... Continue Reading →