Category: Poetry

To hold your breath for weeks, is to reverence the ancestors who survived the middle passage. And the ones whose souls were left in   … [Click here to purchase a copy of the magazine.]

Allori painted you so pale, lips ajar with words just spoken or a triumphant cry on air.   …[Click here to purchase a copy of the magazine.]

We made jam in the kitchen, the windows    flung wide to let in a non-existent breeze.   …[Click here to purchase a copy of the magazine.]

Spring was barely a fleck on the horizon when we arrived, our tiny family a beast asleep. You and I held hands and named the patches …[Click here to purchase a copy of the magazine.]  

The year my father was born Hart Crane died by suicide while sailing between Mexico and New York— Harold Hart Crane of Garrettsville, Ohio whose body was never recovered since he leapt overboard into the Gulf of Mexico. My father would have had nothing to do with a poet committing suicide after a steamship crew…

She contained innumerable bodies. For ages, she had swallowed our deceased so neatly. With woven roots and grasses, she’d mended shut the million mouths we’d cut and dug into her skin. She’d rebirthed our departed into night-blooming jasmine, cats, avocado trees, snow, razor clams, and delicate blue moths. But hers was the kind of body…

Not raised in locker rooms, he sees his first cocks at the museum,   marble hardons a sudden revelation to him. At least   they look like hardons, he thinks, feel like hardons later when he imagines   how they feel. This, of course, is how all art lovers are born: in private   &…

In the age of rising steel open me like a door toward the orchard where ripe pears fall. -Sohrab Sepehri   Slide the iron latches, turn my brass handle. Walk through me when dusk dwindles into deep indigo dyes. Forget your eyes and feel for the frame, the last structure before a garden assembles herself.…