I. The powers of language are the solitary ladies who sing, desolate, with this voice of mine that I hear from a distance. And far away, in the black sand, lies a girl heavy with ancestral music. Where is death itself? I have wanted clarity in light of my lack of light. Branches die in… Continue reading Alejandra Pizarnik
That beauty exists outside myself is a consolation / like watching love happen elsewhere. — Angelo NIkolopoulos, from “From The Body Archive,” The Literary Review (vol. 61, no. 2, Fall 2018)
Holding on makes nothing stay. Give things permission to go. Touch with gentleness, release, and rooted objects will break loose, a landslide that gathers speed and leaves a brightness in its wake, a lacy layer of memories like foam lines scribbled on a beach. — Rachel Hadas, from “Piece by Piece,” Gettysburg Review (vol. 32,… Continue reading Rachel Hadas
The anagram of the name from its cipher– birds light across the silhouetted sky. The birds and not the sky. Your body leaves a trace in the valley of snow. The trace and not the body. — Jacqueline Winter Thomas, from “One Year of Winter,” Mid-American Review Volume: 39.2 | Year: 2019
strange isn’t it how every day brings us to a place we’ve never been, strange isn’t it, my nearly perfect one, how passionate we once were, almost, I would say, like bread and cheese which cannot bear to part and thus go down the dark throat together. And now it seems we have nothing other… Continue reading William Kistler
All I have never been troubles the night. — Phyllis Hoge Thompson, from “Do Not Tell Me That in Another Life You Will Leave Notes for Me Everywhere So That Next Time We Can Find Each Other,” The Hudson Review (Spring 2007).
the forecast kisses my cheeks with upheaval, says here it comes and I feel a little tingly, sky darkening to slate, then brightening to white the thrill of undoing and hurdle pouring over our windows cans of soup and wax beans just roll off the shelf and then it starts—the slow … Continue reading Dawn Lonsinger