Poems
“I read the line over and over / as if I might discern / the little fires set / the flames of an idea licking the page”
“Illumination,” Natasha Trethewey
Legacy | Poetry
Legacy i click my wrist bones together like two strangers kept captive i nosedive in friction and curve with the depths trapped in gaps where i just can’t find my voice yet, there— lain beneath...
Sestina for My Mother | Poetry
Atlanta Writer’s Club Presents… The Natasha Trethewey Prize for Poetry Winner: Elizabeth Bracken Sestina for My Mother When I was four, I would sit in a brown wooden chair in the kitchen and my mother would braid my hair. Then she would turn...
Cultivation | Poetry
Cultivation Why do our bodies make things they do not need? Seeds from a fast food kids’ meal in a backyard whiskey barrel make juicy little red globes on the vine. Replication is supposed to be a highly regulated routine, a pageant of proteins and cytoskeletal...
Malaisonaisse | Poetry
Malaisonaisse “Squash is an excellent conveyer of butter,” my friend said. The strangest things go in and come out when he opens his head, watching fat-spackled beef bricks and spit hit the coals as barbecue sauce drips from ribs and wings and fingers and...
In Appalachia, Living a Spectacle | Poetry
We heard that the war was coming. We heard we were the victims & we were the perpetrators & we were the problem & we were the future. We heard a television man was coming with his camera & his vest & his eyes squinting against a hatless skyglare....
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