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Channing Huang
After I opened the curtains, the city’s massive ocean ripples just as I’d remembered: dusty from the years I spent chained to my bland suburban neighborhood, flooded with identical trees and identical houses, familiar from shining years past. Below me, sprawling streets meld into the concrete tiles of the path beside the harbor, the same…
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Alexander Etheridge
—after Robert Bly After we’ve set the book down, it’s all right if we only remember the paper cuts. It’s all right if Eliot stands under a bare bulb for days writing two lines. We should thank our suffering— Chopin coughed up blood composing his last mazurka. We come from an ancient family of weepers—A…
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Marisela Zamora
was getting old & so was every full moon. Her soles failing to keep up the stretching, the tearing—the whole dramatic event of an animal erupting into itself. She stood below layers surrounded by godly redwoods, baby blue jays dreaming of homes, cryptic effects of lunar cycling. Ago she noticed a starved tempo inside her…
