Poetry

Megan Leonard POEM WRITTEN WHILE I WAIT IN THE COLD ROOM AFTER THE NURSES HAVE GONE OUT BUT BEFORE THE DOCTOR COMES IN Megan Leonard’s poetry can be found most recently in Sharkpack Annual, Transom, and Reservoir. Her digital…

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Rebecca Hart Olander Dysmorphia I’ve been a Super-8 movie camera in a pond trying to film my confidence, a wife, and a conversation full of silences. My job was to make things up. I have proof. Home: butter, salt, mirrors,…

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Jules Jacob Broken Sonnet for Relapsing Daughters this song was yours clean      without loss or metaphors yet comfort’s counterpart is pain is what I can’t spare us, is what quits speaking and walking, sinking to the carpet…

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Marjorie Maddox Regret I was so tired of stepping in it until it rose to my ankles, my calves, clinging to my shins like tar as I tugged my unshaven limbs this way and that, so, so tired of…

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 Laura Foley Camden, Maine The winter loons find harbor here, as do I, my child’s child walking slowly with me down the street, her tiny hand like an anchor in mine. She bids hello to water, to sunlight on…

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Martha McCollough On Mother’s Blue Hat High out of reach / netted lacquer cherries tremble and shine /  inviting the bees, her perfect children / not us so waspish and barking / busy with accident — thinking the pearls…

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Sarah Sousa Hex Mother conceives the sun in the dark hours before morning, grows large, and births the sun at dawn. The promise of the sun, at least, she keeps. The sun is steadfast, we say, crediting it not Mother,…

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Jane Poirier Hart   How to Iron a Shirt: Lessons for an Imagined Son 1. Start with the collar. Spread it on out on the board, underside up. Press from points to the middle. Turn over. Now press the right…

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KT Herr Sealskin, to her selkie Into a middle drawer you tucked me weary & drack–– I feared tearing grew rank, patient & cracked along the fold like spent leather nestled among the t-shirts. How you itch strangely-clad in…

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Jennifer Franklin Eurydice in Hades I thought it would be dark, tucked into the earth like so many fighting seeds. But there is light enough to see my body, its fissures— collectors of secrets. There is light enough to…

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