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Category: Poetry

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Annie

Annie, dusting the earth in birdseed, cups her ear for the coos of loons that echo up from Bantam Lake—across the thistled yellow hill where deer would bow their heads, go rigid, then bolt into the curtain of trees.

by Eliza Mott on April 26, 2014April 27, 2014

Two Poems

The Fall To the first girl I ever kissed, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have, but the rum and Coke tasted so good on your tongue. I’m sorry, too, that my hands were not soft against your skinny calves, crossed at … Read More

by Margaret Sullivan on March 31, 2010March 22, 2013

On the Rain, in Springtime

Just that.

by John Tamplin on May 23, 2012March 17, 2013

rpm

she cannot hope for anything better

than what she was on our red rust –

wagon’s wheels grinding as dad pulled us.

by Nathan Eckstein on February 14, 2015February 16, 2015

Soracte Ode

“And do not spurn
sweet love, my boy, or the dancefloor
while senior woes don’t cloud your sunny day.”

by Arthur Imperatore on April 2, 2017July 20, 2017

Displaced

“To erase the blankness, / masked the cleaner’s sting / with lavender and sage, / found places for my mother’s / good omens”

by Mina Quesen on October 4, 2020October 3, 2020

11/13

bangs and pops, in videos on screens a number says something’s wrong black writing: they had guns you wince a repeated trope: men in black stand before yellow tape in a bath, red and blue supine bodies float on frames … Read More

by Nathan Leach on December 6, 2015

An Alcohol.edu Love Story

“Because the last time we parted ways
Was in the upstairs lobby of McCosh.”

by Peter Schmidt on March 5, 2017March 4, 2017

Riesling Poem

The night is dry & we confuse the bartender by ordering rotwein instead of rose. I’m using royal. I’m halfway through the glass when a 34-year-old man doesn’t ask to strip my skintight pink dress to light the years in … Read More

by Katherine Frain on October 24, 2015

Dirge

Something about the engineering of stairwells / makes you want to push someone down one. / Vertebrae snapping against all those / edges straight as rulers. Too violent,

by Eliza Mott on March 30, 2014March 30, 2014

Thanksgiving

“We pass it every year, the way the parade passes. Then we arrive home with the last notes of the song, evidence against our staying power, our packaging, upon return, found intact.”

by Tess Solomon on December 3, 2017December 3, 2017

Seashell with a Void in the Middle  

Shall hold a life like a cupped palm, lash in the ocean. It knows   the best exoskeletons   protect the glass self sleeping inside.  How to define oneself as a self  that is only itself without the self it … Read More

by Rachel Stone on December 6, 2015


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