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Poems
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HOUSEKEEPING: Frida’s Future Kiss
After the palm reader told her no man would ever claim her,
Lois P. Jones
What is Unknown
When I tell her I’ve fallen for What Is Unknown, my mother’s face brightens. “She’ll be a good girlfriend for you,”
David Huddle
Cataclysmic Paternity
There’s the you at birth and the you that’s taught and the you you concocted.
Daniel Meltz
KRVAVÝ KOLENO
Why does the line end sooner than the page?
Sylva Fischerová
Milkweed Lullaby and Radio Lullaby
The days were endless,
Cynthia Cruz
Agnus Dei, Winslow Wants a Gun, Omega Street
The shearer’s come horse-back from Solo –
Joseph Bathanti
Toussaint
The soul, you said, is this sour wind, or this empty glass, the tiny steps of insects, these white iron
Jean-Michel Maulpoix
Proof of Poetry
I wanted first to end up as a drunk in the gutter
Tom Sleigh
Geese
More dream now than memory, though memory is all it is: after an early dinner, I’m dropping them off at their
Alan Shapiro
January in West Texas
Once, I preferred nights. How they arrived one tied to the next like silk scarves, knots of daylight between them. I
Chloe Honum
To Manuel Bandeira | To Hilda Hilst | To Adélia Prado
The girls are still a d o r a b l e
Flávia Rocha
Imperial Crimson
There is no way I can write ‘producing meanings’ as my job in the CV,
Yuliia Vereta
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