Requiem
By Melissa TuckeyUnable to sleep,
the blankets wrapped in waves, waves
as tall as dreams,
the dream world trying to make sense
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Dominion
By Claire HermannGod separated the light from the darkness,
but I have a light switch.
Once there was morning and evening,
but now someone has torn the heart out of a mountain,
Hatchery
By Kim RobertsHundreds of tiny fry
crowd the single tank,
churning the water milky.
The fry grow to parr
As I Pay Forty Dollars
By Susan Eisenbergfor my asthma inhaler that
last year cost fifteen
I pause for the mom
Saraswati praises your name even when you have no choice
By Purvi ShahYou had a name no one
could hold between their
teeth. So they pronounced
Currency
By Fred Joinera pocket can sometimes be
a kind of prison,
I have never lived in
Spam’s Carbon Footprint
By Craig Santos PerezCraig Santos Perez performs the poem "Spam's Carbon Footprint" at the 2016 Split This Rock Poetry Festival.
Grease & Salt
By Jeanann VerleeI finish a small hot plate of grease & salt, & push the scraped-clean plate across the counter for someone else to scrub / this, I say I have paid for but it doesn't fit
THE MOTEL CLERK’S SON DRIVES OUT TO CHECK ON BUSINESS, 1977
By Allison Pitinii DavisBefore him, stickers fade across the bumper:
LAST ONE OUT OF TOWN, TURN OFF THE LIGHTS.
The last employer in Youngstown is the weather:
the truck behind him plows grey snow to the roadside
2001 Mill Road, Alexandria, VA
By Marcos L. MartínezThere are immeasurable ways to count days: on the median the sunflower tracks UV streams: east to west then sleep; an acorn gets weeded out of the common area ‘til another live oak drobs a bomb then sprouts till, yanked away again;