Wilder met Corey four months after moving to Oakhurst when Wilder managed to get a spot on the logging crew mid-season.
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Two Poems by Eileen Pettycrew
we float like bubbles, but I can't help thinking / about our hearts--shaped in darkness, arriving / with a sadness that turns us to fragments, like notes / cut loose from their songs.
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A Normal Interview with Hanif Abdurraqib by Mialise Carney
I think I enjoy how many people can perceive the same performance in different ways, and how those ways might be directly linked to the way those people are perceived by the public when not performing anything beyond simply living.
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InnerChild4U by Bowie Rowan
Imagine you are walking through tall grass, your hand brushing against green blade after blade. Walk through your memories like they are tall blades of grass. Let them brush up against you.
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To See Clearly by Amy Hassinger
A song can be a revelation, a reminder of the continual apocalypse that every living moment brings into being: the now that ends with each phrase, the new now that begins with the next. A song can cut through the smog of fear we breathe each day, helping us to—even if momentarily—see more clearly.
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The Unraveling by Natalie Teal McAllister
The beginnings of new threads emerge. This time she puts her palms against the threads, pushes them back into place on his skin, holds them as one might hold together something glued.
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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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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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Perennials by Shelley Wong
Still, I lose: I cannot even recall/our common silences. The years have transposed/into any year
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Ghost Child by Danusha Laméris
Only he is not my son. / He’s the one I was expecting that season / my belly grew taut as a honeydew.
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Do You Eat Monkey Brains? by Arvin Ramgoolam
What did the future have in store for me when my only cultural touchstones were Apu from The Simpsons, the evil Mola Ram, and the village of starved, tattered clothed Indians offering the hero their last bits of rice?
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A Normal Interview with Khaty Xiong by Jer Xiong
A lot of things have changed me as a poet since 2015, but what these changes have ultimately revealed is that I cannot live without poetry. I need it to commune with the living, to commune with the dead, and to meet the many burdens of grief that come with being alive.
Read MoreAmerikan Swamp by Sonya Bilocerkowycz and Chris Stevens
Recall how deep the roots that gulp this ground. There is no draining what’s already drowned.
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Reclaiming a Name by Negesti Kaudo
For years, I’d pronounced my own name wrong because it was easier, it fit into other people’s mouths better. My mom wants me to embody my name. 'I gave you a strong name,' she says.
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Fountain Square by Emma DePanise
Face-up underwater gazing up bright, the rippled / branches were always more mesmerizing in motion
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Invasive Species by Sara Moore Wagner
And there they are, our little / babies in the pond moss wetland / of the yard, all blonde amidst / the fallen limbs, the jagged lines / of timber.
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A Normal Interview with torrin a. greathouse, by Angel Gonzales
I often know — or think I know — that I have found the right language for relating an experience when the act of speaking a poem out loud makes me shake.
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Hairy Govinda by Kathy Anderson
This old yoga lady next to me throws her legs up in the air and farts. That’s okay by me.
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