Now I think of what I’d die to forget. Now I forget.
Where did I grow up, get out—was I as rich as a golden
yolk waiting to crack in the hay?
Poetry
Browse submissions from past editions, web exclusive content, author Q&A, and more.
Little Red Riding Hood
Of this world we know very little.
In my little house I know green
stags leap over me when I sleep.
The Woman Who Eats Soil
What can the unfortunate insect do
if it is found wanting in weight?
A pill-bug rolls into a bead of silent news.
The Story of the Moon
Once, night, unchallenged, extended its dark grace
across the sky. To the credit of the town, the stars
at night had been enough, though sometimes
the townspeople went about bumping their heads
in sleep.
"Short Cuts" and other poems
I didn’t know that girl was in my belly until the heartburn set in, acid foaming into my esophagus and escaping in a huff of steam wafting silver moonward.
Auto/biography, or so I was tolde
she pickes mye foote up by the heele
dragges hir fingre padde
along myn arche
& seith unto me
thow hath a noblewoman’s foote
The Eye of the Cyclone
A poplar tree shakes its wet hair
in front of a mental hospital in Ch’ŏngyangni
Maybe the night wind is blowing—
The Field
nothing moves
let white rush in
the eyes,
still
in the display
once
