Poetry


This Year

by JESS WILLIARD

Utmost, utmost the geese insist.


Hiking Across Grand Canyon Alone At Night Barefoot

by THEA GAVIN

all of us in the Canyon
smaller or larger than
something, all of us hungry.


As If It Were a Child

by KATHLEEN HELLEN

she wears the thinness of the aged tree,
the plans that have miscarried.

She’d lost eight last season.


My Eighth Birthday

by ERIC FISHER STONE

life has no meaning except life itself
and the sky needs no reason
for birds to fly there, the sun
rich enough for spiders


Recovering

by ELLIE ROGERS

That night, I searched the tree line
for her hide, tan among branches.
That night, I dreamed a birch grove,
paper strips hiding her white tail:


To Skin Bare

by MICHELLE MENTING

but no one is there to watch you

weather your notions as you strip lichen off bark, as you peel
bark from tree, as you reveal the bare trunk and the ooze of sap,

does anyone sense your thought-quake?


A Summer Linden

by TED KOOSER

This tree has a thousand little windows
that it throws open in the fall


Raised Bed

by BETH MCDERMOTT

I think of the species
of mole with unformed


Newport

by JEREMY NATHAN MARKS

Salted shingles, wooden gables and
streets of stone: this city is a mandala
of whalebone and oil.

 


Sir David Attenborough, I Think I Love You

by RITA ORRELL

After lying in the cool dark sand,    you rise, khaki pants soaking
wet,    to show me the belly of a horseshoe crab,

 


The Day of Saint Richard of Wyche

by RODNEY NELSON

we want to go rowing on it
but more than cold is holding up
the river


Outlier

by AG SYNCLAIR

in the orchard
among half naked trees


Bérgère

by ALEXIS LATHEM

At this hour I watch the light gather up the wheat in her blue nets.
The ground thickens with mist and the throat of evening
gurgles and purrs. The goats are in their beds.