Category / Issue #65 December 2016


I too have my stack hidden in a cranny. Photos from my time on the romantic equator. I don’t seem to ever get around to throwing it out, –the longing, I mean, I mean longing, I mean  longing I mean

Nurse at a Bus Stop

The slow traffic takes a good long look. Jilted bride of public transport, alone in the shelter, the fireproof bin and shatter-proof glass scrawled with the cave-art of cocks and hearts. It’s late, Friday, the graveyard shift, you’re ready to

Editor’s Note

December: and once again I find my subject in that recent trip home to Louisville, freshened this time by a chance encounter with my ancient Master’s thesis, discovered in a storage bin at my mother’s home, as I hunted for

Two Poems

Night World   The barbed-wire vines knot the azaleas in the DMZ of the border yard. Everywhere I find the sign of signs: the abandoned wreck of a cardinal’s nest, over-mortgaged, or under water; the snout divots of armadillos, shy,


  a literary critic wrote some thirty years back i have an inner strength and would succeed in the end to convince i haven’t convinced anyone and i have no inner strength other than when I fight for nothing like how


One day they took him in a car all over the country and he hid in his room for a week: Knowledge diminishes me. He sits by the window looking into the world’s vague and proximate mouth. Insects and jewels

Two Poems

A Photo Of My Father That Doesn’t Actually Exist   – Washington Square Park, 1950, for example   Her clothing says Old Europe till my father’s angular face emerges from the blur, a skinny six-year-old in awe of tall buildings

Featured Selection: Linda Past…

By way of introduction to this month’s Featured Selection of new poems by Linda Pastan, we offer an extensive interview with our own Associate Editor for Special Projects, the estimable Nancy Mitchell, followed by the work itself and some more detailed biographical

Essays and Comment: Amish Triv…

Confessions of a Contest Junkie   —Amish Trivedi     If you have any vice or addiction in your life – and we all have something – you probably already know that what you are hooked on is bad for


For a moment I was on trial and I looked at my three judges with something not of contempt exactly but more of curiosity distance but respect even something of pity which surprised me for those who held my future

Delete the Bird

My will was just a constant cuckoo by the hour I arrived, not mine but calling me the epitome of waste. He warned me toward him by an inch of dangling wire that charged each minute into noise. I longed

“All the time I pray to …

“All the time I pray to Buddha I keep on killing mosquitoes.”   — Issa   Issa, I killed 8 gophers this fall, held each cold body in my open palm,   stroking the river colored fur between their silent

Five Reviews In Brief

In this month’s special holiday installment, reviews editor Adam Tavel offers five mini-reviews of recent poetry collections—just in time for the gift-giving season.         Hera Lindsay Bird by Hera Lindsay Bird Victoria University Press $25 (NZD), 111


Elusive, but only sweetened by Disuse, souls I’d entered once before Once again trouble the surfaces of life With their small noises and single color… Picture the dream before the last dream Of a troubled night—something like that.   There


my face is old now crinkles like permanent sleep lines I suppose I am getting ready for that ultimate slumber   still I like to feel the bed sheets against my legs imagine someone grabbing hold of my ankles working