Mar 22, 2013
by Carla Ferreira
They say in Avignon people dance on the bridge / that was either unfinished or fell apart— / no one remembers those folk stories anymore.
Feb 20, 2013
by Gail C. DiMaggio
Another Monday in another February and the streets outside / are shiny with sleet, speckled with litter. Everything / diminishes—sumac and elm, Dad’s old Buick. Lust.
Feb 18, 2013
by Lisa Pellegrini
Before he was a seagull / he was the bed of the ocean / its stronghold and place of / penance, a tenderfoot of sorts.
Feb 4, 2013
by Timothy Walsh
From where I sit, the mirror on the opposite wall / shows the outside world / through the window behind me.
Jan 21, 2013
by Matthew J. Robinson
Although we died the moment we met, / we believed we could shun nothingness / by getting married, act as a paradigm / for those just beyond giving up.
Jan 6, 2013
by Hélène Cardona
On a visit to my ancestors I’m shown / into the palace of hypnotists / through a small entrance and grand rounding staircase, / each step a drawer containing sculptures.
Dec 19, 2012
translated by Len Krisak
Rainer Maria Rilke (1875-1926) is one of the most influential poets in German literature. Following are new translations of four of Rilke’s poems from his 1907 work Neue Gedichte.
Nov 24, 2012
by Robert S. King
This was not my house the day / it grew smaller over my shoulder. / The family my blind rage left would not / know me now, nor would I know more / than who they were.
Sep 24, 2012
by Joyce Sutphen
Somehow, it keeps itself in tune. / Each key remembers its name / and loves its neighbors— / black and white.
Jul 30, 2012
by Kurt Lovelace
Kneeling to untangle my dog’s leg from its leash, / how did I get here, walking a pit bull in the dark under the sour leaves of drought resistant Texas oaks?