the three of us turn right. Past the iron fence wrapped in raspberry, thick with bee song and morning glory’s violet, the tree’s jaw and its opera throat hitting all the right notes. Past the…
Browsing Category Poetry
Midden / Appetite
My mother calls herself our trash heap. She eats what we won’t, grows plump on our leftover eggs, bread crusts, the bitter-hearted lotus seeds we cannot stomach. We have small appetites. Waiting for us is…
Two Poems from Liz Lampman
Spell for Burning Gender with a line from Elizabeth Bishop Call on the moon: illuminate! For night recalls the ache of barely kindled flame and I the sweat in which our bodies met— the…
Two Poems from Sean Cho A.
Dress Up The men in my family tell me American girls love American boys in the dark. I asked my grandfather how to dress. He wasn’t sure what “American boys” wore so he dressed me…
