I can taste that tongue for me you’ve set to rubbing in your pocket Like a stone excited cricket, flint you’ll strike when right in moonsteam: blue Glue, apogee, cunt of night. Coyotes, a fire round in a ground. Much hair is all of your black bones suckling Open in my throat all…
Catherina Schrader, midwife, nearly an apparition in mists rising from the Wadden Zee, follows a stranger to his boggy farm. The man is afraid of his wife, her cries, her twisted face. Who knows what may enter a woman and flourish there? There have been stories—monsters with fingers and toes grown together like pigs’ feet…
Louisa Solano We want to salute Louisa Solano, who is celebrating her twentieth year as the owner of the Grolier Poetry Book Shop in Harvard Square. Throughout that time, Solano has been an invaluable and supportive resource for poets and poetry readers alike, holding book signings, running a reading series, and administering the Grolier Poetry…
. . . only making love to you wasn’t I curious about the rest of experience . . . —Jane Miller once i snake my dress off i will loll still as volts train my feet to paint opposing murals if a riff of flesh will halve me on this tasty day in the luxurious…
The mother kneels beside her grieving child, grieving because the whale has not come, because the whales are elsewhere, not heaving clear of the water where child and mother can see them. In the brilliant light of a day at sea, the child whimpers. Her own small sea ebbs and rolls until she spews an…
All I Wanna Do Poet Wyn Cooper, who teaches writing at Marlboro College in Vermont, is listed as one of the co-songwriters of Sheryl Crow’s hit single “All I Wanna Do,” but the collaboration came about in the most unlikely, serendipitous manner possible. For a year, Crow and a group of musicians met every Tuesday…
I’m in a city called El Paso. I could point it out on a map. Right here, here it is. There is longitude, latitude. For most, this is enough, a satisfactory explanation. But say we don’t use all these imaginary concepts. Say there is no west of or east of or north of or south…
Partially green leaves are falling on Camille’s Italian restaurant where grapes tint our lips, and the linens are more inviting than our bed. Our eyes shine like the blue glaze on our plates. Heat radiates through the shale of my spine now suddenly recalling the black bitter chill of deep sea as if my body…
The muscular hollows: eye, lung, heart, stomach, hand. The parts that you enliven: lips, hair, spine. The necessary and cleansing wastes— sweat, blood, urine, stool, and sperm. But certain places of my body are not specified or named until reached by the first unexpected drop of rain, or the careless, accidental touch of your fingernail….
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