These dogwood branches on the windowsill—they’re my touch, stemming freshly. In my spell I am suspended, seamed into soft-drawn letters I’ve just learned. Is this the floating feeling when you’ve come into love? — Alice Wright, from “Photograph: Alice Allgood Cooper on Her Wedding Trip,” ecotone (Spring/Summer 2017) Advertisements
Spring is dangerous, like love. And love survives the lovers. — Etel Adnan, from “A Season,” New! (no.3, 2007)
I work so hard to forget myself & now the trees are full of autumn. This is the time of year when I would rip myself apart if I thought it would do any good. — Nate Pritts, from “Life Event,” Powder Keg (Issue One)
Oh we’re a mess, poor humans, poor flesh—hybrids of angels and animals, dolls with diamonds stuffed inside them We’ve been to the moon and we’re still fighting over Jerusalem. Let me tell you what I do know: I am more than one thing, and not all of those things are good. — Richard Siken, from… Continue reading Richard Siken
Full Moon Good God! What did I dream last night? I dreamt I was the moon. I woke and found myself still asleep. It was like this: my face misted up from inside And I came and went at will through a little peephole. I had no voice, no mouth, nothing to express my trouble,… Continue reading Alice Oswald
Poetry– but what sort of thing is poetry? More than one shaky answer has been given to this question. But I do not know and do not know and clutch on to it, as to a saving bannister. — Wislawa Szymborska, from “Some Like Poetry,” The New Yorker: October 21, 1996 Issue.
In my mouth is an enduring summer solstice where dawn follows dusk in such rapid succession I barely taste the night. — Dominik Parisien, from “I Am Learning to Forget,” Strange Horizons: 2013 Fund Drive Special. Published between 6 September and 4 October 2013.