Victoria Nordlund Articulation The regret of these words not said sits crossed-legged in my throat like a piece of chicken I can’t quite swallow. Victoria Nordlund is a high school English teacher who also writes poetry.
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Victoria Nordlund “Peach”
Victoria Nordlund Peach The skin of each minute peels away baring the hours as I watch the clock grow slowly toward morning and I am still here left with a fleshless finished pit. Victoria Nordlund is a high school English teacher who also writes poetry.
Read MoreSteve Klepetar “The Quantum Poet”
Steve Klepetar The Quantum Poet If a tree falls in the forest and you write a poem about it that gets taken by two journals, does it count as one publication or two? Steve Klepetar believes that the answer to the conundrum his poem describes is “Yes and no.”
Read MoreJason Heroux “21st Century Translated by Robert Bly”
Jason Heroux 21st Century Translated by Robert Bly When I look up at the night sky, I am a cricket in the dark grass of heaven, hearing trees carry the wind’s coffin through woods that are no longer there. Jason Heroux lives in a house on a street in a city on Earth, loving every […]
Read MoreSarah White “If You Need An Idiom To Describe Events Of 2016”
Sarah White If You Need An Idiom To Describe Events Of 2016 Try I SWALLOWED A RAT while I was making shepherd’s pie, or HE SWALLOWED A RAT while he was working out with weights, or SHE SWALLOWED A RAT while she hung undies on the line, or, while he studied Torah and she, Portuguese […]
Read MoreElizabeth Alford “I Had My Wisdom Teeth Out Last Week”
Elizabeth Alford I Had My Wisdom Teeth Out Last Week The last thing I remember is saying “This nitrous smells like Froot Loops” once the unnerving mask was anchored to my face, the sweet gas filling my lungs and veins with a rare flirtatious happiness, and how the surgeon—whose frosted stubble hit just below the […]
Read MoreElizabeth Alford “Heaven is My Mother’s Apple Pie”
Elizabeth Alford Heaven is My Mother’s Apple Pie Once a year (and only under the best possible circumstances) my mother makes her apple pie, and that first bite—oh! how buttery and crumbly the crust, how spicy the forbidden fruit filling still warm from the oven and swirls of cinnamon, sweet and tang waltzing to flavor […]
Read MoreLuigi Coppola “Coasters”
Luigi Coppola Coasters How we fled across a field filled with snow, feet bare, the need to crush the white outweighing the need for socks, shoes, shows more about ourselves than how, once ice, our faces have melted, we use coasters under lukewarm tea or weak, off-white coffee. Luigi Coppola reads poetry, teaches poetry, writes […]
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