Dale here. I am testing our email system that delivers our poems to our mailing list. We’re having a little trouble with it. It’s probably the heat. While I’m at it, I’m including one of our previously posted poems from the archives. Here’s Megan Merchant, from 2017. Megan Merchant The hospital intake form wants me […]
Read MoreMegan Merchant The Pro-Life Approach to Refugee Children I will keep the egg nestled under a warm light in a bed of hair I shave from my head, and sing it safe, but once the first crack shows, I will sit behind my window— I will leave it to fend, or die, alone. Megan Merchant […]
Read MoreMegan Merchant The hospital intake form wants me to declare a religion. When I was nine, I let a patch of dandelions grow by the church-white walls so they too could be scolded for beauty and when dried, cursed for undressing under the sky. Megan Merchant is either happily lost in the tall pines, or […]
Read MoreMegan Merchant Splitting Points The lightest rain in heat is sweat, glistens and wrinkles the paper-brick house we kept dark so as not to singe the joints. Megan Merchant writes during nap time and was the winner of the 2015 Lyrebird Prize for her forthcoming book, The Dark’s Humming.
Read MoreMegan Merchant To nearly touch the dent his head makes on the pillow that smells like tangerine and fur, is to blur the soft edges between familiar and worn. Megan Merchant writes during nap time and was the winner of the 2015 Lyrebird Prize for her forthcoming book, The Dark’s Humming.
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