Eternity buries itself in smaller things. How desperately I have wished for memories to be eternal, but eternity exists only insofar as it buries itself in smaller things. The photograph will exist longer than I can ever remember its being taken. Even the candle which burns exists longer than my recollection of the candle or… Continue reading Jacqueline Winter Thomas
So this morning I am here, shovel deep in the dirt, planting a stick of willow. I am sorry it is such a small one, and I am sorry I will probably neglect it, though dirt carries on sometimes, without us, and in astonishing ways. Today, I dig down for deeper words, a darker way… Continue reading Katie Redding
I don’t remember words, conversations or where we’d go, if we went anywhere. I do recall your missing smile and imagine that it is still on the loose. You may never find it, though I have suspicions you are keeping it bound in a box behind the sofa […] Maybe you even look at it,… Continue reading E.V. Noechel
I’ve never wanted more than to be a ghost and reach through your chest and grab the shatterable thing, only to forget what I cannot touch. Like so many sharp things, I know I couldn’t stand to watch myself disappear into you. — Baily Cohen, from “Have I Ever Been Wicked?” The Boiler (no. 29,… Continue reading Baily Cohen
Time does not stand still; it is writing itself into the leaves how fatal life can be. Fog is burning. The fields are evolving as light arrives in a slow assured way. Like a passing rain, light arrives! And it is not any more beautiful one day than another; it just seems that way, narrowing… Continue reading Martin Willitts Jr.
Always she dims again beneath black water as mornings wrest you from sleep like a breech foaltorn loose, shivering in the hay. — William Wright, from “Equus,” Shenandoah (Vol. 61, No. 1, Fall 2011)
I can’t tell you where a poem comes from, what it is, or what it is for: nor can any other. The reason I can’t tell you is that the purpose of a poem is to go past telling, to be recognized by burning. — A. R. Ammons, “A Poem is a Walk,” Temple Poetry.… Continue reading A. R. Ammons