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4 Poems

Ama Codjoe

Before I am beautiful I'm in the hairdresser’s chair, / perched atop two phone books, holding my ear. My reflection / in the bathroom mirror is a landscape painting.


Poetry, Fiction, & Nonfiction   

Heavy Lyfting

Ben Austin-Docampo

It's easy in the sense that all you have to do is get in the car and fire up the app. It's hard in that it requires long, monotonous hours to be fruitful, and constant vigilance to stay safe. San Francisco is a tough city to drive.

Ghost Dinner

Jon Hickey

As they headed back into town in Smiley’s pickup, she could only feel like they had all done something wrong, something to be ashamed of. Something they could never talk about again.

Voyage: Happening in an Egg

Megan McHugh

Why did he shape my brother’s body to the contours of war? Is this the shape of all our language already?

Harborless

John Sibley Williams

If I had known all boats eventually yield / to the current, I would have readied myself / long ago

From the Archives

Father's Day 2009

Alexander McElroy

He wasn’t a particularly good Dad (though we weren’t great kids, either, loud and ravenous, always asking for pizza or pocket change), but the holiday didn’t call for distinctions of merit.

Communicating with Your Dead: An Interview with Sam Roxas-Chua

David Nilsen

"I've always been interested in the invisible poem. When a poem is finished, what is the undercurrent? What is it still trying to say?"

infinite wop (for Biz Markie’s “Alone Again” and Jodie Foster in Contact)

Sheila Maldonado

I am OK to go / into another / dimension / a vision of / vast idiocy / and solitude / release it / through my / otherly abled limbs

[SPRING: MOSAIC::]

J.P. Grasser

Touch them, the tesserae, the shards of floating glass, which skim the rain-full gutter. Not dead: us/them—mere stutters, gluttons for new skin. Life, peel back your veil. Now, see? See it again: To be dead another time is a deciduous explosion.

From the Blog

MASS CULTURE AND THE AMERICAN POET:
THE POEM AS VACCINATION

I once drove around southwest Arizona with a photographer named Pedro, from Mexico City. His specialty was making ethnographic forays into North America,…

Travels with Steve, and Good Writing

My old friend and former teacher Steve Orlen and I walked many miles together along the wide avenues of Tucson, Arizona. Our promenades usually took place…