Latest Writing
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FEBRUARY INTERVIEW with ASA DRAKE
Perhaps it’s no surprise that the first of Asa Drake’s two debuts, Maybe the Body from Tin House, is flush with the fruits and flora of a flamboyant garden, given that she lives in rural Florida. Nor perhaps is it a surprise that the book is fecund with cleanly honed commentary of what it’s like to be…
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OCTOBER INTERVIEW with EDWARD SALEM
Edward Salem is a poet who hasn’t lost his sense of humor. “Palestinians,” he shares in our interview, “are insanely funny.” It’s this sense of humor that jumps off the page of Salem’s debut poetry collection, Monk Fruit, surprising readers, even as he’s tackling topics like the occupation of Palestine, American imperialism, torture, and genocide.…
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SEPTEMBER INTERVIEW with LIZA HUDOCK
Addiction, death, and loss are everywhere in Liza Hudock’s debut collection, Reveille (released by Flood Editions in August), but they are not its actual subject. Instead, the poems wrestle—as near as it can be stated—with the world the speaker inhabits. Whether she turns her attention to a moth, the comparison between a pumpkin and a…
POETRY
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SYRINX by Alison Mandaville
After five years it’s a vague harassment, your name in a stranger’s mouth, my ear, a soft punch up from the gurney. Still— slight birds wake me with such repetitions: the branch point adjustment of throat valves, labia in tension, not warm, not cold-blooded. A liquid resonation, two resonations, a final exhalation of atmosphere.…
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90% DARK by Dina Folgia
The earth did not take me when I was nine, and I hated the earth for it. Each time I came to the place where the lake met the park and pressed my back into the soggy grooves at the boat launch, I flattened and flattened. When I couldn’t sink any lower into the…
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DAY 559 by Kim Jensen
If you hit the snooze you’ll have a little longer to live in the body of a wolf to gnaw at a bone in the woods parading the entrails back to the den you’ll have more time to be a nobody an unwanted wallflower wearing not even half a dress a few more minutes to…
FICTION
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SPLIT UNIT by Ryan Bender-Murphy
For so long, the first thing I’d see in the morning was Gabby, her head against the pillow, and it was enough to complete the day. I didn’t need to look at anyone else or go anywhere else; I could simply go back to sleep. But whenever I woke and saw her, I thought I…
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ONCE, THERE WAS HOME, by Karla Hirsch
once, there was time, there were moments that made up your life, there were hours and minutes, a morning’s routine, the bitter coffee you brewed in the copper pot you had longer than you could remember, mixed the hot liquid with sugar and spices, let it fill you awake to prepare you to journey to…
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THE GATEWAY by Laura Wolf Benziker
Mina, in the passenger seat, was lulled by the vibration of the car. Her skull knocked against the tempered glass in a not-unpleasant way. Her eyelids sank and darkened, then flicked open every few minutes. She saw exotic colors: swaths of glowing terra cotta, deep violet shadows, a sky so blue she only half recognized…
TRANSLATION
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FOUR POEMS by Marie Lundquist, translated from the Swedish by Malena Mörling
What do we do with what we lack? A cleft palate weakness, a harmony,a sibling with whom to share ourselves. Quick and quarreling the rainfalls on memories no one is polishing. A few remain, hidden as if insecrecy. New names ring over the graves, mute and soft likemoss-mouths. …
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THE HEART OF A SIREN by Margo Rejmer, translated from the Polish by Antonia Lloyd-Jones
From the recent collection The Burden of Skin. The sea was groaning like a wounded beast. Is the sea hungry? Or thirsty? Is it afraid? Dawn was slipping through holes in the thin curtains. Lying in bed, Enriko began to make out the contours of objects. He listened to the sea. It was calling…
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THREE POEMS by Bejan Matur, translated from the Turkish by Nell Wright
No spring The Judas-trees have bloomedwe’re mourning againno springno countryand blood everywhere. When kissing the earth They talked about a cavalry girlwalking. Tenacitycrossing valleys, mountains.Saying as she goes,how much I believedhow bound I was.Foremost when climbingmountains and valleys,kissing the earth with a breathno one knows.As if the mountains were beginning for the first…
From the Archives
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