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Posts in Poetry

Adriana Cloud

Birth Announcement

It arrived in the coal hours of the morning: 98 words each pink and darling, 12 lines, 6 tiny commas. The labor was hard and fitful, it lasted 31 years. Every poem takes all of your life to write. In place of an epidural there was wine, sour red mouthfuls and the threat of a cheap headache. It is brother to a drizzle of other poems, some of which use the word cinnamon, sister to rhymeless alphabets that are always trying to spell hunger. The mother is proud. It will be loved until the night buds another idea. ...

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Stacey Mann

Wall to Vanity

the beginning quite glibly has just been run over, / a tram-car at Patriarch’s Pond whirled and pitched, / poor thing, it must have slipped on frosted glass.

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Erin Rogers


I hear the dead wish they could decide what we dropped in the ground: blood or wine or potato chip fragments, a left-shoulder toss of salt. Catch you in the eye. Better to leave behind for them than for gods or the devil.

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