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  • Alice Hoffman Prize for Fiction

    Ploughshares is pleased to present Dantiel W. Moniz with the eighth annual Alice Hoffman Prize for Fiction for her short story “Milk Blood Heat,” which appeared in the Spring 2018 issue, guest-edited by Lan Samantha Chang. The $2,500 prize, sponsored by member of the Ploughshares advisory board, longtime patron, acclaimed writer, and former guest editor…

  • Scientific Method

    I think, if I could,I’d be anything elsein this world. Mimosa pudica, my leavesclosing when touched.I’d go back to 1729, take for shelter the awfulcrypt Master kept me inwith only enough water to last between his visits,during which he spokenot to me but about me, as though I lackeda mind, an appeal forfellowship or feeling….

  • In the Fields

    with lines from D. A. Powell We unyoke owl pellets from marrowin desert meadow. His mouth pigeon eye, a torch, womb turned flower. He, still a boy,dug from cactus skull. Undress into bark beetles. He unlearns how to hold a fistwith my hand. Bursts into dandelion seeds. We are all beautiful at least once.Mud water…

  • Damp Room

    I. It’s entirely up to me to remember                                   what you said. But all I recall is water,               flour,          strained yolk adding          up to something beaten and inedible. I placed               my ear to your stomach,          whereexcess warmth gathers in the name                                                                       of the body’s clandestineritual of diminishment. I’d crouch at your feetin the shower, allowing                           what pale lather ran               in runnels from your hair,…

  • Two Gifts

    I got a carouselof carved horses:pastel pinks, blues, greenssafely the most beautiful toyour garden apartment had ever seen And Grandma Shine gave my brothera flashlight that resembleda roll of Lifesavers And he was quiet a momentbefore he began to whisperabout the beauty of hisLifesavers flashlight, all brightred yellow green with possibility of lightand hope of…

  • ode to the afternoon

    my friend tells me she’s been runningin the cemetery in the afternoonshe calls it just-a-garden-reallyfirst i am afraid & then i am afraideverything is cemetery & gardenmy late uncle’s flower shopmy daughter learning to fold a paper into a boatsea salt marriage dawn old french musicthis vertical line digging deeperinto my forehead every morningthat bicycle…