Give me Leda with thighs / like bear traps, skull-crushing, ready to rush / the sky on her own wings. Leda who lies / poised, nails polished red on her lush shore.
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Epithalamion by Virginia Konchan
For you, I sat under a yew tree's shade / for a thousand years and did not twitch: / I ate only lemons amid a welter of fruit.
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The Fish as Healer by Kelly Gray
By the pressure of water / my arms glide back / seraphic, / my fingers catching in the sea grass. / Here, I pray for the sting of salt in my eyes.
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A Normal Interview with Monica Sok by Mariah Bosch
I write down dreams as they tell themselves to me. I write down as much as I can remember, trying to get the details and the order of events right––not interpreting them but documenting them. But I think there’s a little bit of freedom in figuring out how a dream takes shape on the page.
Read MoreContingency Plans by Belle (Bom) Kim
Perhaps I won't be wholly lost if I can make something from this pain.
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Warnings by Rebecca Turkewitz
We heeded most of the warnings most of the time. But we were runners. And no one told the boys’ team to practice in pairs or avoid wearing headphones at night. Besides, when we ran, who could touch us? We were our own private rooms.
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On Epistaxis by Cameron Martin
'I get nosebleeds.' I almost wish we all did at awkward moments. How much more easily the awkwardness might be diffused in the humanizing light of the body’s nor “I get nosebleeds.” I almost wish we all did at awkward moments. How much more easily the awkwardness might be diffused in the humanizing light of the body’s normal frailty.
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Moles by Kellie Rankey
The behavior seems instinctual; children first meet their mothers, and then they meet the dirt, and the latter may pull them from the former. There is a connection to dirt and digging and digging and the life to be found in layers. All sorts of reasons to love it, they tell us.
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