all she wanted was the smell of the sea, of disappearance. — Louise Glück, from “March,” The New Yorker: Poems March 31, 2008 Issue.
This blank paper is the one good thing. I want to fill it with colour, soundlessness like a heart that shuts with slow murmurings. I feel myself slipping into that whiteness. My dumb legs, my red hair pale by moonlight as I doze into a laudanum pod, secretly happy, blooming in the night though the… Continue reading Leanne O’Sulivan
Maybe don’t for another minute be afraid of anything. Because swimming is really useful against drowning which you didn’t know until you tried it. And then your life was just massive regret. And then you thought about three purple blossoms in the hair of a beautiful girl. — Wendy Xu, “Please Stand A While Longer… Continue reading Wendy Xu
There are wild flowers in my desert which take up to twenty years to bloom. The seeds sleep like geodes beneath hot feldspar sand until a flash flood bolts the arroyo, lifting them in its copper current, opens them with memory— they remember what their god whispered into their ribs: Wake up and ache for… Continue reading Natalie Diaz
When we reach the summit, you tell of repetition. The way an orange unpeels itself in such heat. : All bruised skin wants to give way in the manner of water. We stop field center, but the green world sweats, thickens like hair. Each pasture clots a day’s naming. We share corner store bread :… Continue reading Alexandra Mattraw
Mnemiopsis, mnemonist, mnemonic, Mnemosyne—such elegance I should be able to recall: these words all begin with silence — Laura Glen Louis, from “M,” AGNI Online (April 2014)
Pantoum The first time I touch a man in lust I remember this: pleasure isn’t something you should give away so easily. Everything I know about loving a man comes second hand; my mother shares with my sister in the next room, I listen. Pleasure isn’t something you should give away so easily, I collect… Continue reading Juan Luis Guzmán