“Carnations, Pigeons,” by Bainbridge Island poet Amanda Williamsen, finds a hapless heroine drifting skyward each night, her heaviness draining from her head like sand. Mornings, she wakes startled, fallen, back in bed. She wonders if her problem might be gas.
Boise, Idaho, author and reference librarian Grove Koger brings us this heady, moody, mythic bit of verse, to inspire your own musings.
“The Spanish Surrealists are constructing a tesseract in my wife’s dream”: So begins Oscar Pelta’s slightly shocking, brightly beautiful surrealist poem, in which life and love are lost and reborn in an explosion of wings.
San Francisco Bay Area poet Maw Shein Win arranges perceptions in fragments, like the pieces of a broken mirror — or perhaps, and not so jagged, like droplets. Each distinct but reflecting some greater whole, each filled… Read More
By Holly Day Finding Me hesitant, the daffodils fall back as if they know their kind is alien here, in the preserved greenstone steppes once home to trilobites and scaly invertebrate worms. only the hardiest flowers grow here,… Read More