Nicola Waldron (29205) there was a woman who lived in a house of wax when she came home from teaching children to speak who had never before spoken she would feel the walls of the house the doorknob to…
Browsing: MER VOX
Libby Maxey Contrafactum “Every house has its particular orchestra.” —Sylvia Townsend Warner in the woods, a bear bell’s chunnering drone the flickers’ enfilade in the garden, a chiming gamelan wind wash in the leaves inside, outside’s company now that…
Veronica Kornberg A Daughter Leaves Home You’re moving clear across the country, your first real job, with no idea even how to sew on a button. Last of the packing done, and you hold out a black wool jacket, the…
Elana Bell Ruins As a child I loved to be found I slipped into the alley behind my house My mother called and called and I did not answer until I heard the net in her voice The ruins…
Melissa Andrés Pressed in Silence My Mother’s arms became a shawl to keep us warm in our aloneness, her smell, not of flowers, but of smoke taped our past against the cold – She is the beauty inside us all…
Curated by Jennifer Martelli and Cindy Veach In her poem, “We manage limited resources against unlimited needs,” Angelique Zobitz writes, So we cleave to one another tight as wet clothes plastered to damp bodies. The poems in this…
Anna V. Q. Ross Heaven Knows It’s like this—some days, you wake up and the light in the field is like swimming or moving through a clear fog, something that pushes back, not startling but steady pressure, the wall-to-wall of…
Angelique Zobitz We manage limited resources against unlimited needs so we cleave to one another tight as wet clothes plastered to damp bodies we – open hydrants that lift one another off our feet choose belief in the enough soothe,…
Mary Buchinger [selections from The Transformation of Material Things] a baby cries & I turn to see what’s the matter a woman robed in blue climbs steep cellar stairs emerges beside me into grey morning air the wailing baby cradled…
Allison Blevins The Name in the Doorway My daughter waits in the doorway. She mouths Mom silently. My name floats from her mouth, hovers wordless above my body in bed. A blue and humming three-winged bird, my name waits…