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The overrated owe a great debt to the little: the pinpoint feet of shrimp unleash the tide pool billows. The mismatched flecks within the rock make granite glitter. Could the gnat impart the summer with her shimmer? Each spring the tightness of the soil is tirelessly relieved by the boring of a worm: she dares…
A hand is the terminus of a human arm, thirty-six or more connected bones and muscles, all designed for grasping but that’s not how it seems to many of us: the tourists on the lawn, shielding their eyes against the glare, me, waving back as though I were visible, the girl at the Burger…
In the cave, eons of time are marked in drops of water bled from stalactites. The old man guiding Phoebe is called Jean-Pierre. Short, hunched, bandy-legged, mostly toothless but still a smiler, he grabs Phoebe hard from behind, pulls her back into his chest, pointing with his penlight up into the cavern. There. Can you…
Survey Results Thanks to all of the subscribers who filled out our reader survey, which was mailed last fall to 3,674 individuals in the U.S. selected from our subscription list. We happily received 797 responses — more than we had anticipated. As many people surmised from the nature of the questions, we are planning to…
I am not seaworthy. Look how the fish mistake my hair for home. I had a life, like you. I shouldn’t be riding the sea. I am not seaworthy. Let me be earthbound; star fixed mixed with sun and smacking air. Give me the smile, the magic kiss to trick little boy death…
We hate the future in early fall. You are worn and I am sorrow if sorrow is a woman who cannot see. Tell me our story. Were we perfect at seventeen? Did we make love in a hotel shower while someone nearby knocked and pleaded into the night? Did you visit New York in mourning?…
Distance, detachment, then, like lenses clicking together at last in alignment, the socketing, sprocketing, then always, like flame in a cave, sympathy first, then perhaps fear, perhaps for no reason something like rage but always this desire to parse, scan, solve, these sensitive bits of cosmos streaming towards me like filings to magnets, one then…
MASTHEAD Guest Editor Paul Muldoon 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: Nicole Hein. Editorial Assistants: Hannah Bottomy, Kristoffer Haines, Michael Homler, and Jill Owens. Proofreader: Jean Hopkinson. Poetry Readers:…
I am as you see what most becomes me: miles skipped canceled trips masters yet unmet. Lace alone is loyal, sacred, royal, in control of crimes stopped by patterns of blood bred to best behavior. As you see I am what has become of me.
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