Joshua, by Jordana Jacobs
Inside the ovaries of my husband’s grandmother, Sylvie, resided an egg the size of a grain of sand that would have been Hannah, my brilliant and accomplished mother-in-law.
Upper Peninsula, by Andrew Hemmert
If the places you go become you, / you must account for the drive-through / liquor store housed in the old carwash.
by Timothy Walsh
From where I sit, the mirror on the opposite wall / shows the outside world / through the window behind me.
by Ian Hilgendorf
I doodled your name a thousand times a day. Even before I seen you, I knew you was made like on a potting wheel, formed together by the fires of my womb.
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.
by Frank Scozzari
Mowambi was breathing hard, panting like a wild animal, his leathery face wincing in the hot African sun. He had been hit cleanly through the side, the wound causing numbness in his abdomen.
by Robert Wexelblatt
You will appreciate that the title of my lecture is ironic. As yet, there has been no last philosopher, nor do I think there is likely to be one.
by Sean Beaudoin
My room is tiny and dark and smells like sweaty sheets. The window is wide open, but there’s still no air. A heavy pre-lightning gloom overwhelms my clankity-clank fan.
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.
by Kenneth Robbins
Where: the ninth floor of the Ritz Building, downtown in a median American city on the Southern side of the Mason Dixon Line, a city like Jacksonville, Savannah, or Montgomery, or none of them, or all of them.
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.
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.