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Patient Colony

Recommendation: I find her work full of life—carefully observed, and expressed in language that is equally alive to gesture and nuance. Her poems surprise and satisfy, as when “used friends/look new in their unused clothes” or a wedding guest whispers a phrase the reader first takes as an epithet, then realizes it is meant as…

The Bad Thing

We found the kittens in a pile, too young to even stagger, the mother too hungry herself to feed them, or caught by the dogs. We had a big old plastic purse with a blanket inside, and we put them all in there and hauled them around in the wagon. I liked them, they were…

A Balance of Blues & Angels

Recommendation: Darrell Burton passed away tragically in December of 2002, just days after completing his poetry manuscript Weather Within. An accidental fire claimed his life in his Bloomington, Indiana apartment; he was 41. Before coming to Indiana University, Darrell lived a full life: navy shipman, chef, college scholarship basketball player, and successful fashion model with…

Ego

Recommendation: Jay Leeming is the most brilliant of the younger poets that I have read lately. He is a high-stepper, and he risks a lot with each brief line. He is not one of those who puts down the name of his laundromat and everything that has happened to him since he was six years…

Hunger Was Coming

Recommendation: Drawing upon a keen intellect, historic and mythic images, and from her own Indian heritage, Minal makes poems that address essential mysteries. What compels me is how she is able to shape an image that offers revelation, and yet she retains what’s ineffable and unknowable. Like an Escher print, “dots” become “birds/with wing-length and…

Antique Shop Window, Kraków

What if they could speak?: the pawn shop menorahs       and samovars, the cherubs torn from their heavens, suspended forever in limbo, hanging       by five black strings thickened in dust, their gold wings flaking so close to earth; the jewel-       shaped chandeliers unmoored from ceilings; the salty waves in stasis on the black…

Now

The glass shone cold with water fresh from somebody’s old “family spring” west of the Blue Ridge. I drank half in one continuous gulp—not greed, but because the day was hot. Then, out of breath or the telephone rang, I don’t remember— I stopped. I put the glass down to mist on the counter as…

Contributors’ Notes

MASTHEAD Guest Editor Carl Phillips Editor Don Lee Poetry Editor David Daniel Assistant Editor Gregg Rosenblum Associate Fiction Editor Maryanne O'Hara Associate Poetry Editor Susan Conley Founding Editor DeWitt Henry Founding Publisher Peter O'Malley Assistant Fiction Editor: Jay Baron Nicorvo. Editorial Assistants: Nada Bankovic and Chris Tonelli. Proofreader: Megan Weireter. Poetry Readers: Megan Weireter, Simeon…

Beholder

1. The cherry tree bends not from its fruit but cold. Cold has more desire than tree or beholder to make a pleasing form. I have made a decision to stand under what shelter might be offered by the tree and let all tropical routine submerge under the actual sap that gilds fruit and dream…