Carolyn Oliver And the world’s the same, lessa few smashed tulips.The melting comes beforethe hyacinths I cut yesterdaybell open.The fleshiness of the flowers!As if they relish the endthe stems...
John McKernan I sometimes go to sleepWith a white umbrellaSuspended above meIts black spotlightOf shadows blanketingWhat must be calledMy Body Who needs a home?What cries for a roof? ...
John McCarthy I went to church by myself the other day after having given up on God. I swear the light falling through the stained glasslooked like your initials—it even sounded like...
David O’Connell The way bright tulips launch themselves from bulbs and nearly hyperventilate each spring. And how the fair-bound pumpkin swells like some past king announcing gross...
James Miller The priest satnext to meon the planeto Rapid City. He was suffering.Flushed cheeks, clenchedjowls. His ziplocked icehad mostly meltedby the timewe leftthe tarmac. Still,he heldthat...
Sneha Subramanian Kanta Every journey is a prayer. A pelagic traditionfor the traveler. The wing-field inside a cloud. Ghosts paddle in sphagnum. Fire between sunand hill. Grasslands in the afterglow...
Michael Fulop There is so much green in the summer.It is like a book with green pages.And on the pages a script of green writing.The words at first are difficult to make out. But then you see.The...
Gustav Parker Hibbett Greg Grummer Poetry Contest Runner Up, 2020 Center-right: wings invisible, pinned like buttoned fronts of jackets around a rigid waxdrop body; small-clawed feet fixed or glued...
Jake Bauer Greg Grummer Poetry Contest Winner 2020 I’d been all morningtrying to fix thisdamn thing. I was aimingto finally nail downthe symbolic.The field by the airportwalked right into...
Jennie Malboeuf The four corners of my eyeline are rich with distraction. An aquarium, a library, a fun park, a creek. In this scene, a shrike crosses the sky, spears a frog on some barb for later....
