I AM IN THE WEATHER
By Quenton Bakerevery cloud that rolls off the ocean
pours my dead on me
the mad
the sick
the brave
the faceted
who chose the wave over their making
Calling poets to a greater role in public life and fostering a national network of socially engaged poets.
By Quenton Bakerevery cloud that rolls off the ocean
pours my dead on me
the mad
the sick
the brave
the faceted
who chose the wave over their making
By Cass GarisonI adore the carnations & I adore
the trains, specifically the boxcars
with endings & beginnings I can’t
keep track of, who drag their stretched
torsos like absolute creatures around
what seems like earth’s clearest curve.
By Dujie TahatPops bought a ‘78 Pontiac,
a firebird-stamped gold bar
on wheels, spontaneously,
after a conversation with
an aunt’s friend—so it went.
By Subhaga Crystal BaconThis is the anti-garden. It tends itself.
Its shine of blooms a blanket of sun.
It has its own water in hidden springs
bathing aspen, burdock and sage.
By Paul Hlava CeballosSay it to me again, I dare you,
any small word, slipped through a sidearm’s
sight—I am not a child anymore.
By Rena PriestWe tell our children stories
to keep them by our side:
Basket lady will get you.
She’ll put you in her basket
and carry you away,
deep into the forest
By Tobias WrayOnce done,
my father pulled
the instrument apart.
By Lisbeth WhiteAt the end of the field are tracks
train metal iron sound called whistle
to me a blare that splits air before it
By Azura TyabjiIf the meaning of the prayer was not passed down to you,
find it through holier means than translation.
Cling to the rhythm instead.
By Leah Lakshmi Piepzna-SamarasinhaI wish you swift wind.
I wish you a changed phone number
that stays changed.