Category: Poetry

When Your Ex-Fiancé Calls

Bellee Jones-Pierce When your ex-fiancé calls you should be busy.   Let him feel the lush delight of interrupting  something. Have soapy hands, something risky  and pungent...

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Pastoral Fragment

Rachel RothenbergWinner of the 2023 Greg Grummer Poetry Prize Somerset County, Pennsylvania Half a cow is disappeared from the farm in Berlin, a two-ton Holstein, it makes  the paper. Gone the...

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Inheritance

Rebecca Faulkner I am trying to remember —  corners of your newspaper curled  in a November breeze, mothballs  in your herringbone tweed. Stubborn  grief, my coat pulled tight....

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Sharp Objects

Alyssa Froehling          She takes me to a motelin the winter, a two-star with a white tilebathroom stained with drips of bloodand coffee....

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It’s an Empty-Headed Move I Love the Most

Adam Houle I swear I’ll leave your ass in Tennesseewith the trumpet vines and BarcaLoungersslumping under carports. Maybe at a BPnear the bottom of a hill, where a state roadcurves that way and a...

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Scree: Hiking in the Foothills

Laura Meyer We don’t talk about babies anymoreAnd we haven’t been drunk together in ten years. My friend tells me about a strategy for receiving long-term care in your home.I tell myself: You...

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On Leaving

Kathryn Bratt-Pfotenhauer It is the season of thinning out the herd, and I am leaving Brooklyn. October is in the city: bright colorful leaves and a track fire on the J, stalling all trains.Over...

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Elvis Died When I Was Seven

Michael Montlack and I learned there was no castto mend a spirit, no flashlightto guide you out of a cave that dark,my older sister unwilling to bathefor weeks, my parents unwillingto make her, her...

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For Will

Cat Newton And Martin told Dan he was going to wear a top hat/ and Amaris told Alexa that she’d be in that knee length dress that has started to remind me of death/ and Reggie told me that he...

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Apocalypse 2012                                         

Martin Shapiro Hardtops sit sun-roasted in rowson a plain of asphalt:  at its far end,a megachurch in session. My Ford Feo’s a.c. eats horsepower.Eliseo doesn’t sweat this jungle...

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