By: Judith Combs-Reyes Persephone Today I wrapped my bed in black flowers threaded my two ruby rings with twine hung them over my head...

By: Dominic Blanco The Humboldt Park Field House overlooks the lagoon where I stand. Another winter coming on. Overhead, the Barn...

By: Amal Haddad For Laura Palmer and the Ceiling Fan Laura, when I lived in your house all our lightbulbs blew. Your room had a closet...

By: Milo Merrill Strawberry California it isn’t God’s fault we like the same TV shows, laugh at the same jokes and become each other’s...

By: Patrick Schiefen Perennial Joseph called me out for the chrysanthemum petals plucked onto the floor but I swore they were wilting...

By: Andreea Ceplinschi Good Face in Facebook sunsets it’s not the you or I who drink themselves yellow, behind clever quips on the state...

By: Brian Baker The fish eye stares at you. Incriminates, right up until the hook pops out of its center, a 3D effect, looks to be headed...

By: Doug May Etagere Nearly a century ago it rode By steamer from Le Havre and east by train To where a porter’s swaying buckboard sat In...

By: Keith Huettenmoser No one has picked the apple tree this year. Time will never learn to be content to let what was be, so the wasps...

By: Kent Weigle We all return by a salt rusted dawn exhausted first thaw brings softrot blossoms budded fat flies hazin a cloud of...

By: Jake Bailey voice of God drifts sideways, left I’m left here, here is a hovel of stone alone, then bark, then bite, night is nexus...

By: Julie Nelson I wanted to write poems all morning. But because it’s my turn and because I promised I mowed the lawn instead with only...

By: Marianne Lyon Dancer dearest body I do not have a mind but I embrace holy litany of inexhaustible emotions they quick-step me through...

By: Wendy Blaxland I open the car door to let the dark night in and hear the soft owl sound of a more-pork‒whoo-hoo‒ like a breath blown...

By: Susan Cummins Miller Into Saguaro National Park-West i. Cloud waves, rosy-tinted in first dawnlight, break upon the atmospheric...

By: Judith Mikesch McKenzie The old red quilt hangs against the window with little white yarn-bows in each square many no longer tied but...

By: Cora Hyatt I will not say that you weep for your country, or even for democracy, as you were made in the image of a land that eschews...

By: Rebecca Smolen In the hatching where future tense is assumed, never real, the past has clotted— In subsided pain, a clean breath...

By: Allison deFreese Fragments And what if we lost only what we don’t need? Two thousand years later Sappho still stands with her lopped...

By: Fran Abrams I ask myself what might make me happy. Would I like ice cream or a new sweater? My response: “It seems that I am always...

By: Diane Thiel In nearly every pocket, a small, methodical machine, but the world still unprepared for the systematic replicating deep...

By: Timothy Geiger I. Rustic, the way wind swaggers this prairie, timothy grass as a sort of transcendence. And by grass, I mean golden...

By: Margot Douaihy representation of possession by demonic forces, not because it’s a movie about devils, per se. It’s about the fresh...

By: Corie Johnson LITTLE GLASS HOUSES Get me a poison ring. Size 9 ¼. Art Deco. Art Deco is any item I see and like. Minimalist is any...