Inside the White Star it was warm, ironed clothes, and humming revolution of unsteady washer-dryers. It was whirling blur of red black blue yellow that Beatrice watched like a TV, next to her lover. Last night she’d looked into lighted windows bitterly, as if she’d been evicted, things thrown out on the sidewalk, cracked…
Contributor Spotlight Born in 1941, Toi Derricotte grew up in Detroit, and when she thinks of her childhood, she remembers fear. “I had a need to be with people, but I was afraid of doing something wrong or saying the wrong thing.” Her parents were getting divorced, a beloved grandmother had died, and Derricotte, an…
Penn Station, March 1991 I’ve been homeless down here so long I didn’t give up the worship of Jesus Now I got my own room but it’s not in my apartment And God is a good god And children if you’re on that crack don’t get addicted Because me I waited too long…
My new breast is two months old, gel used in bicycle saddles for riders on long-distance runs, stays cold under my skin when the old breast is warm; catalogue price, $276. My serial number, #B-1754, means some sisters under the skin. My new breast my new breast is sterile, will never have cancer. Once…
MASTHEAD Guest Editor Marilyn Hacker Editor Don Lee Poetry Editor David Daniel Assistant Editor Jodee Stanley Founding Editor DeWitt Henry Founding Publisher Peter O'Malley Editorial Assistants: Heidi Pitlor, Maryanne O'Hara, and Nathaniel Bellows. Intern: Monique Hamzé. Fiction Readers: Billie Lydia Porter, Anne Kriel, Barbara Lewis, John Rubins, Karen Wise, Loretta Chen, Todd Cooper, Michael Rainho,…
A tree spooked By its own evening whispers. Afraid to rustle, Just now Bewitched by the distant sunset Making a noise full of deep Misgivings, Like bloody razor blades Being shuffled, And then again the quiet. The birds too terror-stricken To make their own comment. Every leaf to every other leaf An apparition, A separate…
Born in Summerside, Prince Edward Island, Canada, in 1934, Mark Strand spent much of his childhood in Halifax, Montreal, New York, Philadelphia, and Cleveland. As a teenager he lived in Columbia, Peru, and Mexico. Upon graduating from Antioch College, he went to Yale to study painting with Joseph Albers. Turning from painting to poetry “wasn’t…
In barracks, Grandma, did dust chafe your lips? The men played poker, the women played bridge. And guards, rifles, the chain of black sleek boots? The girls cut out dolls, ripped paper in skirts. Or towers, gleaming, plugged with silver barrels? The copperheads slid through tundra and thistles. My mother, born in camp, draining your…
Glenn Thrip failed to notice the bullet hole in the rear window of his pickup until several days later, after they had removed his wisdom teeth. Snowed on codeine, he was clearing the Nissan’s floor of pennies, trying to extract the keys from beneath the mat, when he looked up and saw the fresh Amnesty…
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