J. R. Solonche One Word One word leads to another, and perhaps someday I’ll find out which. J. R. Solonche, who has been publishing since the early 70s, is author of six books of poetry, coauthor of one, and author of one chapbook,
Read MoreJ. R. Solonche One Foot Apart When I’m writing a poem, I’m marking time with its foot, but when I’m not writing a poem, I’m marking time with my foot. J. R. Solonche, who has been publishing since the early 70s, is author of six books of poetry, coauthor of one, and author of one […]
Read MoreJ. R. Solonche When I Found Myself When I found myself, on this bright sunny May morning, driving behind a shiny black hearse, looking at the bright blue sky and the bright white clouds reflected in the polished glass of the rear window, I reflected on my own death because I could not think of […]
Read MoreBarbara E. Young Wild Blackberry Jam The morning rose foggy with nothing of the night’s roiling, window-rocking storm left behind, only guitar-pick-shaped petals, ivory, scattered on the porch under the ladderback chair. Barbara E. Young lives on a windy ridge twenty-odd miles west of her Nashville birthplace.
Read MoreAlexandra Egan February 17th On my mother’s birthday Earle and I eat Thai food and he puts his hand on my hair, on my ear, tells me to take antidepressants. Alexandra Egan is a writer and set designer living in Brooklyn.
Read MoreGil Hoy Threw It Away Years Ago I’ve no use for a stainless steel lightweight, corrosive resistant contraption that encumbers my wrist and can’t tell me anything useful anyway: Like when my kids might grow up, my heart will stop beating or the last polar bear will step off the last piece of melting sea […]
Read MoreDevon Balwit In Memoriam in me also, bright sulfur, the flare of a dying empire, the insistence that you notice even as I am going down // in each upturned face a wince, a thrill at the blast not quite close enough to feel Devon Balwit: “But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends— [I […]
Read MoreHowie Good The Rise and Fall of Rock Stars The night Elvis died on the toilet he was like a circus without wild animals. Howie Good is on the pavement, thinking about the government.
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