With hands clasped around his gut, my father and I cruised down the wobbly lanes of Pouyatt and Crooks Street where the zinc fences that made homes glistened in the eventide light and old women sitting outside on multicolored buckets smiled at us in between thick, hearty laughter.Read More
Category: Kay-Ann Henry
KAY-ANN HENRY And where have we found ourselves yet again? at the mercy of the land the air the water. I could run, but either way the sea is rising. Best we can do is use what will be left of the land— a palmetto fan for the...Read More
On nights, the moon is much too lovely
to ignore and my room becomes a
cocoon that stuffs and suffocates,
I take a walk.
I’m looking for the lady whose skin
turns blue in the moonlight.
After two croaks, I see her
in all her antediluvian glory.
Suede Clarks, Anita Baker crooning
from the record player,
a devoted night routine to the moon.
She has me transfixed in space,
time and retrograde.
My whole body is humming
whatever tune that’s so wonderfully
placed around her lips.
Oh, how I envy that song.
I, too, long to be a thing in her mouth.
Eugene Speakes, Dwight Thompson, Diana Thorburn and Yzahira R. Valle García
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THE VENGEANCE OF MOKO
Ryan Cecil Jobson
THE OLD GUARDS ARE CAMPING OUTSIDE
Mikayla Vieira Ribeiro
FROM SPAIN TOWN TO OUTER SPACE AND OTHER POEMS
Shauna M. Morgan
HOLY BLUES AND OTHER POEMS
John Robert Lee
DARK EXPOSURE: ROBERTA STODDART’S THE BERTHA ROOM
SURVIVING THE DREAM
THE MOUNTAIN THAT COULD BE EATEN; DAO CHANG
MAD HATTERS; LEAKY; BERMUDA GOMBEY COSTUME
Nancy Anne Miller
JANOAH AND DE SOULBOAT
CHARLEMAGNE FONTAINE DONKEY FOOT
Carol B. Duncan
LA UBER LLORONA
Yzahira R. Valle García
THE ART OF BELONGING
BRIEF AND CANDID NOTES ON ARTIFICIAL ARCHIVE