The Abyssal Zone By Sara Eliza Johnson Winter 2021 Sometimes it’s seaweed in your throat you can’t cough out / or an ink cloud expanding in your skull 0 Comments
The Husband with Clothes By Rebecca Hazelton Winter 2021 Who doesn’t like a bit of flash, / a pop of red / like a nosebleed 0 Comments
The Husband without Clothes By Rebecca Hazelton Winter 2021 Admit it. This is how you want me, slick where desired, / rough where requested. 0 Comments
The Husband as Tilda Swinton in Most Anything By Rebecca Hazelton Winter 2021 Like an ermine looping through the snow, mouth a pink line, / I’m suited for my habitat. 0 Comments
The Husband as Saint Sebastian By Rebecca Hazelton Winter 2021 You can’t control what people make of you. / Some see sacrifice / where others see torture 0 Comments
Invasive By Ada Limón Winter 2021 What’s the thin break / inescapable, a sudden thud / on the porch, a phone / vibrating with panic on the nightstand? 0 Comments
Sanctuary By Ada Limón Winter 2021 Suppose it’s easy to slip into another’s green skin,bury yourself in leavesand wait for a breaking, a breaking open, a breaking out. I have, befo [...] 0 Comments
Forsythia By Ada Limón Winter 2021 At the cabin in Snug Hollow near McSwain Branch creek, just spring, all the animals are out, and my beloved and I are lying in bed in a soft silence. 0 Comments
Intimacy By Ada Limón Winter 2021 I remember watching my mother / with the horses, the cool, fluid / way she’d guide those enormous / bodies around the long field 0 Comments
When the Moon is Full, the Trees Speak in Unison By Sara Eliza Johnson Winter 2021 Here’s a lesson: If you leave a hole in the forest, / leave a mouth open in pain, astonishment or grief, / something will come to fill it 0 Comments
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