All Poetry

Salon Zine: All Poetry

Solitude

By Seni Seneviratne Let me assume a pose that is suitably uncomfortable. There’s no obvious way to shift me from a life of necessary solitude,

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At the End

By Nathan McClain there’s a bluebird, asleep, in the pokeweed, and we argue still— what’s pinched in its beak— a thread of red string, perhaps

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Albuquerque, NM

By Cathy Linh Che In the car, phantom shadows. The moon was a sliver. The sun blared orange over the canyon, and I caught myself

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Pünktlichkeit

By Erika Dreifus with thanks to Steven M. Lowenstein   My father’s parents were Germans, and they were Jews, and they were born long ago,

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Life Taxidermy

By Brie Huling There was no one here to tell me I was wrong. In taxidermy, you skin the animal first like removing the skin

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Heart Decay

By Brie Huling I’m hiding inside my vestibule of hearts today— among the lanceflower and sour purslane. I am a little millipede with antennas like

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Birthmark

BY PRABHAKAR VASAN It is, again, unsafe. At least, it is unclear. animals, their dark forms when they crouch at the margins of the freeway

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Yes No Yes

BY DIANE SCHENKER Now is the winter of our inevitable results, unavoidably determined by prior conditions. Essential? Absolutely. Logically. Required. Convention, on the other hand,

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Consider

BY DIANE SCHENKER Consider housekeeping, consider the rain. Consider the fly dancing on the window. It herky-jerks its relentless heartbreak of trying to get out.

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Composure

BY LUISA A. IGLORIA Everything returns to a source: gladness to the tree, fruit to the cradle, flesh from the bone. Water lashes the roofs

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Noise

BY CHERYL BURKE Ever since the latest spot opened nearby, the limos leaked models onto the sidewalk, the guys in ties lined up the block,

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Moonstreet

BY STEPHANIE SHERMAN There were nights when the moon rolled down my nose, paused at my lip and slipped down Arévalo street. The children’s feet

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Disciple

BY CHING-IN CHEN Don’t know when it began, the vision. One by one, I let go. My husband calls me a crazy wife, bad mother,

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Default

BY CAROLINE BERGER Still a flare of anger an ache of loss a phantom limb feeling whenever she reads he the default pronoun striped of

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