By: Katya Belena DATURA Droplets of Selene, still loyal watching, trailing the tide-mover cold mother the condition we call moonstruck is...

By: D. Dina Friedman SNAKE No one believed my brother when he saw the black one writhing its evil in the grass. This was before...

By: Julie Benesh Wave Manometers measure pressure but the act of observation changes the observed. Bitter pattern is like spewing iron...

By: Andrea Michalowsky It's just about the sex. It’s not the sex, it’s the feeling after, realizing a man can obliterate me. I’ve always...

By: Amanda Hiland Northern Lights Flo, wound in a pale blue coat, gets up every ten minutes and cannot remember where she’s going. I find...

By: Benjamin Rose Avenge, O Lord, thy slaughter’d saints... —John Milton, Sonnet 18 We curse in the parlance of former Hill staffers And...

By: Lily Mayo He looked at me, like my body was sculpted of ambrosia and honey. My voice flowed like nectar into his mouth-- he guzzled...

By: Ruth Mota Take me Sun as you do the yellow tulip who unfolds her cup each morning to drink your mana. Cover me Sun like loam’s warm...

By: J.B. Hill What to Say When I say, “How are you?” I don’t know what that means. A person who says such a thing could be worried,...

after Joseph Conrad By: Ian C. Webb The King of Belgium stroked his sepia beard, with a spin of the globe, found a gap on the map, and...

By: Jocelyn Ulevicus Dyed pink, the baby’s breath looks wild to me—so much more beautiful than the filler-flowers of my girlhood bouquets...

By: Ruhani Chhabra winter the days are short which means that darkness is longer. you may not be able to see them, but you can feel their...

By: Landon Smith Lessons Learned From Black Revolutionary Assassination Number...? What does a broken shoulder even support when joints...

By: Jose Varghese He wears a maroon silk shirt that flutters in the wind of high-altitudes, a pair of black trousers hugs his thighs in...

By: Julie Nelson Step outside. The air is fragrant with burning wood after rain. Next door, your neighbor lit a fire in a pit and every...

By: Susan Burns Yao Moving Water The trees bow to the river as if by its movement they too are moved (I can't die) Waters drip and push...

By: Kindra McDonald Whenever a recipe says to fold an ingredient I think of origami and the slow and deliberate folding of paper, corner...

By: Estelle Bajou Humbles herself for absolute quiet. She cannot keep her walls erect. Outside her: desperate families eat their happy...

By: Laura Walker For our children, never to be born We breathed life into so many things in those early days, dreams we inflated breath...

By: Anastasia DiFonzo He speaks of nonviolence. He preaches patience. He laughs in childlike wisdom. At the time of attack, simply stand....

By: Mark Simpson After Reading Ed Skoog's Poem about Topeka, a Town in the General Vicinity of Where I Grew Up But Topeka was big-town,...

By: Neha Mulay The Death of Weave After Mahmoud Darwish His unmarked lair was the freshest of graves. In the angled pipe of my throat, a...

By: Victoria Brown To be near you, to be a flooding river or a well-lit pathway, under a sweating spell end of August. Heart swelling,...

By: Claire Alexander-Joly 90° weather and the air conditioner’s dead, “I can’t b—” At the edge of my voice, the words get stuck right...