Migration Patterns
By Sara BrickmanOwosso, Michigan is cinder blocks
stacked on top of potato cellars and steamrolled
grey. There’s a lot of corn,
Calling poets to a greater role in public life and fostering a national network of socially engaged poets.
By Sara BrickmanOwosso, Michigan is cinder blocks
stacked on top of potato cellars and steamrolled
grey. There’s a lot of corn,
By Gretchen Primackand there was a dog, precisely the colors of autumn,
asleep between two trunks by the trail.
But it was a coyote, paws pink
By Myra SklarewIn the mirror of infinite regress
go back. Go back to Vietnam. To a man
who can spot a trip wire fine as a hair,
By Gretchen PrimackThis is the press of the earth. One star hanging
there, honking like a goose. The lake
a smudge of black juice, the hill a draped
By Amaranth BorsukFew things the hand wished language could
do, given up on dialect's downward spiral:
words so readily betray things they're meant
By Jericho BrownThey said to say goodnight
And not goodbye, unplugged
The TV when it rained. They hid
By Rachel M. Simonthe name altered from parent's choosing
the threshold of a home
white gloves on the windowsill
By Yvette Neisser MorenoSomething tender about skin
and muscle framed by ancient stone.
The pyramids behind us in silhouette,
By Jonathan B. Tuckerpardon our appearance
as we grow to better serve you
says the sign on the fence
By Kim RobertsO augury seeker,
know and be aware...
In the book of divination,