for Miroslav Nikolov In the year I graduatedfrom West Daffodil Sr. High Schoolthere was so much romancein the hallwaysthat, by the end, the powersthat be—weary of it all—cancelled the prom. This forcedus to explore each other’sundraped bodies exclusivelyin such automobilesand private homes as our districtafforded. The moral hereis not what you think. It isn’t reallyabout…
in all things, sonny boy, my father advisedwhen I complained the mulberries that dyedmy lips the protuberant shade of a girl’shad left me with a stomachache.He ascribed the quote to Socrates,his source for all words to the wise.But how did one acquire the wisdom to knowwhich mulberry on the tree that shadedour rented summer cottage…
We woke to a world opened up in holes, a dawn still stained with spots of night. Stoking the stove, we stood, went to the window, blew out the lamp to better see: out there, beneath the barely brightening sky, the snow-smooth pasture somehow gone guttate while we slept. Letting out the dog, we lingered…
Driving behind the slipstreamof a truck, I wonder what the ruckus is,and pull over to the shoulderwith the radio off and the radiatorticking down until it clicksin rhythm with the ticking of their wingtipsand that mocking, ridiculous,bickering caucus begins to sound like bliss.It isn’t music, or worship,or even familiar, but the words itfills me to…
Parted, after thirteen years of shoutingand silence and three kids. I wasthe middle one, the one in the middle. Sundays he took me to the movies,to the luncheonette, to see the freakson Mermaid Avenue. Have I erased my sisters from the story?One was still an infant,the other Mother’s ally. It must have been winter. He…
Ploughshares is pleased to present Danez Smith with the twenty-sixth annual John C. Zacharis First Book Award for their book of poetry [insert] boy (2014, YesYes Books). The $1,500 award, which is named after a former president of Emerson College, honors the best debut book by a Ploughshares writer and alternates annually between poetry and…
Russell woke, his mouth dry and sour with fear. His back ached and his hands were stiff, raw, the blood swelling in his knuckles like he was young again, fighting again. A warm wind came from the window, pure and solitary-smelling in the way of predawn hours. And he could smell the jasmine that Alice…
Nick Flynn, My Feelings, poems. (Graywolf, 2015) Alice Hoffman, Faithful, a novel. (Simon & Schuster, November 2015)
Nick Flynn recommends Likenesses by Heather Tone (American Poetry Review, 2016): “Strap yourself into this book, allow yourself to ride it all the way to the top—remember (as Tone writes), ‘At a certain point it would be wise to ask yourself why you are doing this.’” Jane Hirshfield recommends May Day by Gretchen Marquette (Graywolf,…
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