Poetry
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Like A Mother: Joyelle McSweeney’s Death Styles
For the reader, it is the dedication before McSweeney’s first poem, “for my daughters,” that signals it is time to read.
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Rumpus Original Poetry: Four Poems by Nazifa Islam
but I haven’t the discipline to really live / for poetry, for dreams
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The Poetics of Holes
Unawareness can be exhaustion, but the very act of poetry is recognition—witnessing. To tell her truth, Nguyen must tell what is, to her, a mystery itself.
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Rumpus Original Poetry: Two Poems by Dabin Jeong
What time is it there / It is like another world / Have you eaten yet
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Embodiment as a Sensorial Practice in Saretta Morgan’s Alt-Nature
Morgan practices the language of collective and enumerated ecologies . . . lexicons we often consider distinct, without an ecotone.
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National Poetry Month: Leslie Sainz
You never begin with a flashlight but / there are always portraits on the walls. Long women like / Modigliani’s, like stretching, life fear.
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National Poetry Month: Zeina Hashem Beck
To stay. Oppressors use words to possess: / “settle.” Lovers use words to escape fear.
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National Poetry Month: Tariq Luthun
I wring myself / into a pain loud enough to numb / my sorrow. How long before they learn — / those boys — to do the same?
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National Poetry Month: Amanda Johnston
What a waste, / one teacher shook her head upon / my withdrawal. Just another [insert stereotype].
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National Poetry Month: Adam Falkner
Who doesn’t ache / for a slice of quiet in the noisy sugar of us? / Pocket of still amidst the looney & clatter?
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A Panoptical View of Slough: On Sylvia Legris’s The Principle of Rapid Peering
Scattered with a sparse collection of the poet’s original sketches . . . the poems move through the slanted and repetitive months of the pandemic, bleeding into “self-digesting” seasons.
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National Poetry Month: Daniella Toosie-Watson
Make no mistake, my dad is alive / in this poem. His glasses are on, his skin is white, / and his jokes are bad.