Spring
Once I ran across a long green field. Inevitably lost the end to that memory.
Once I ran across a long green field. Inevitably lost the end to that memory.
Don’t need summer. Still haven’t figured out how to work the radiator.
In the mirror, I see two asymmetrical halves of a face. In my dreams, these halves turn to you to say, why don’t we throw a party.
the holiness is in fingertips
“…part of the work of the tongue is to befriend a certain kind of exile, to plant as many kisses there as I can.”—janan alexandra
“In bringing the reader to a generative and speculative space, Not a Force of Nature explores the potential of “the working class poem,” and what might come after, in a collection deeply rooted in resistance.”
Poetry collections to wander, want, and whirl this winter: The Hungering Years by Summer Farah (Host, Feb.) has an electric pulse both steady and sudden, dense like the tightness of …
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