Between

Amanda Hempel We sometimes found fossils in our garden— shells shot out between the blades of the roto-tiller white exclamations of something ancient and maybe sacred, all that used to fill this air. What wonderful nightmares swam somewhere between the garden and the sky. Amanda Hempel was born in Stockholm, Sweden, and grew up in… More

Las Grietas, Galapagos

James Hughes The earth crusts with dry clay only inches from the shallow water line; as if the salt grains drink the moisture greedily and starve the cactus lives. We walk the lava stones and stumble on their fringes— loose, misshapen stairs adrift above brackish panes of sea in whose aqueous windows we gaze the… More

The Putting Up

Amanda Hempel It was always the hottest night of the year, August, the end of the raspberry season when our father filled the kitchen first with his sterilized jars, his Lennon glasses steaming at the stove. Then the berries, the endless stirring, straining, adjusting consistency, balancing sugar until the night loosened its grip to purple.… More

Pseudo-Hymn (After Rebirth)

Mark DeCarteret For Charles Farrell Saint talks-up viewings— wombs x-rayed, yesterdays zoomed-in-on, administered-to, brooding contumaciously, defying evolution. Faux goddess, how I’m justified– kindling lit-upon, managing non- neon, our quandaries resigned! *Music by James Rioux Mark DeCarteret is currently the Poet Laureate of Portsmouth, New Hampshire. His poems have been published in AGNI, Boston Review, Chicago… More

Abduction

Mark DeCarteret Afterwards– bedlam cardinals descending everywhere, fate gyrating, heaven’s inked– juxtaposing knees, liturgies mention nothing of peculiar quiet, reddened snows, trumpeting! Universal vocabulary’s whimpering, x’d yielding—zeros. *Music by James Rioux Mark DeCarteret is currently the Poet Laureate of Portsmouth, New Hampshire. His poems have been published in AGNI, Boston Review, Chicago Review, Salt Hill,… More

Dent

Sid Miller After the crash, everything that shattered and hissed can be replaced. The smell of gasoline has dissipated. The blood on the upholstery scrubbed clean. The dents throughout the body pulled out, buffed and painted. Of course the dream won’t dissipate. But that’s okay. It’s expected—the haunting. Now the closer truth—the new radiator and… More

Excavation, The Dig

Clarissa Olivarez Let us first look for one without expectations. As Carson postulates, Eros may very well be the sweet followed by the bitter. But is that where my depression began? When we met, You took me to the fun house in New Orleans – Standing on the platform at the end of the bridge… More