Poetry Editor

Three Poems

We are epistles the gods have written to each other, Mama often said as she stitched pearls into silk, stuffed spices into frayed cabbage heads for winter, ground the rinds of citron into honeyed water. She said our fathers were first tigers, sons of ...

Badlands / The Lakehouse

  You’re tempted to find God in every abandoned landscape: twist of black road snaking through dry grass, shroud of white hotel cotton, blank heaven that cannot conjure cloud. Your blood chased his fingerprints for mile after unmapped mile: suprasternal notch, scapula, Devil’s Tower. His every ...

The Devotion of St. Teresa of Ávila

In the cloister, God loomed like the flu: a kissing game, God the dare-you-do. But real sickness arrived like an invitation slipped under the door, so for Teresa devotion was easy as eating with a dirty spoon— the divine as germ, fear as germination. Her body ...

Three Poems

She found her tongue on the floor and paper-clipped it to the kitchen calendar. This was back in the day of Separation. Permanence. — Her Car, Jean Valentine If I was her friend, I’d tell her to look out the window Girl       there must be something you ...