Poetry
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But my chest doesn’t look like that, and you know it
doesn’t feel right. Tits, boobs, twins. Wanted so bad to be
like the boys on the beach, the surfing kind, the skating
kind, shirtless and flat.
Bad Faithby Kale Hensley
First, from treason, for even loss belongs
to men; their fealty (just call it love)
to other men but older, thoroughly; pining
for a root obsolete, used much like
rhubarb to free rot from teeth.
On Rembrandt’s Isaac and Rebeccaby Mara Adamitz Scrupe
I might have mentioned something classical
about myths & magic. I might have talked
of famous warriors crossing the Rubicon
or goddesses or even saints. (& no one else in my real life
would have known what it meant.)
Two Poemsby Sara Letourneau
When writing poetry in the French countryside,
remember to go out for a walk if you’re visiting
in the middle of June. The sunflowers
at the neighboring farm won’t have bloomed yet,
though their stiff, bristly bodies will stand
as tall as you...
Notes on Orangeby Rudrangshu Sengupta
stories of her childhood,
a language of mango-stained summers,
afternoons steeped in card games
and the clink of ice cubes in steel tumblers.
Two Poemsby Anthony Robinson
buzzing around my head right now.
I wonder if this means I'm dying.
I said hey honey and there was nothing so sweet...
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