By Maggie Queeney
A corruption of grammar—what knowledge
I have come by comes through the eyes To my hands—lightning runs…
I have come by comes through the eyes To my hands—lightning runs…
Explore Poems: Living
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- By Li-Young LeeAnother word for father is worry.
Worry boils the water
for tea in the middle of the night.
Worry trimmed… - By Li-Young LeeI can hear in your voice
you were born in one country
and will die in another, and where you live is where… - By C. S. GiscombeI was a woman in a prison camp, my job
was to work in the yard. I walked away,
drifted north, like I do, and came to Canada; but by then I was
a man dressed in a long soviet coat, wool with... - By Maggie QueeneyThe look I am hunting: the one
that through color and cut glares the starer into a skull or a skein
of… - By Sasha DugdaleThe downs are certainly lovely, although by mortal loveliness
did you mean they would disappear one day… - By Sharon OldsBut I love the I, steel I-beam
that my father sold. They poured the pig iron
into the mold, and it fed out slowly,
a bending jelly in the bath, and it hardened,
Bessemer, blister, crucible, alloy, and he
marketed it, and bought bourbon, and... - By Imtiaz DharkerAt last I’m taking off this coat,
this black coat of a country
that I swore for years was mine,
that I wore more out of habit
than design.
Born... - By Blas FalconerIn Francisco Oller’s El Velorio, a child lies
on a table as if sleeping. It is covered in lace
and blossoms… - By Rigoberto GonzálezI’m consuming myself,
my doctor says, and I get
the urge each time I lift
a fork. How it rattles
with… - By Jordan PérezWhen the purple snap peas in the garden
couldn’t find anything to grasp onto, the shoots
ferned into… - By Carmen GiménezIn Lima, my mother screams from her bed and from a garden
and in the parlor of her nursing home, and… - By Michelle OteroAfter the stroke our father lost the word
light switch
asked me to
press the wall so a world could open… - By Carmen Calatayudmy body at the water’s edge of opioid comfort
under the brain’s night sky
rounding the blue curve … - By Martha SilanoIs this the last time I’ll admire the guys
in their neon-yellow slickers, guiding us
to our parking spots… - By Martha SilanoBecause why not? Why not take the smashed pinecone
of my life, render it in purple? Why not dream of… - By Karl KnightsYou left a note.
‘Please don’t judge me
too harshly.’ I read it
at your memorial.
I hate that my voice
didn… - By Karl KnightsIt’s Boxing Day and I’m nearly ten and a half.
I got the camouflaged Action Man for Christmas.
I told … - By Louise ErdrichAugust and the drive-in picture is packed.
We lounge on the hood of the Pontiac
surrounded by the slow… - By Josh BellKung-Fu, a couch, and I might reach
emptiness tonight, stuck on that Midwest
hoo-doo, counting cemetery…