You fa ox fa, you fa ox gasea ahhh, how proof you?In catch I jump slap like a rack,my dradda hours, all sticks and pikes,& never once did you zoo-hoo.—from “In Which I Try to Leave My Husband, But Cannot Find the Words”, Spring 2019 (Vol. 60, Issue 1) Tell us about . . .
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Kill Class by Nomi Stone (Tupelo, 2019) Living as we do in a time of ceaseless, overlapping wars, I would venture that most Americans believe that we know how soldiers prepare for war, through basic training and boot camp, the persistent physical trials of young men to ensure their strength. In order to . . .
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Meena bazaar looked like someone had swept up all the portside towns that ran from the Persian Gulf through the Hormuz past Karachi, Gujarat, and Bombay down to the Malabar Coast, scrunched all these crusty places into a fist and daubed the remains onto the mouth of the Dubai Creek, installed thousands . . .
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The 2019 winner of the Anne Halley Poetry Prize is Amit Majmudar for his poem, “Invasive Species,” published in Volume 59, Issue 4. Join us for a celebratory reading at Amherst Books on Thursday, April 4, at 7 p.m. Free and open to the public. Amit Majmudar’s next books are Soar: A Novel and Kill List: Poems. His most . . .
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Tell us about one of the first pieces you created.As a child I loved making drawings of foxes and animals. We had this series of nonfiction books for kids, Eyewitness Books, and I would sit down and copy the art in them. What artist(s) or works have influenced the way you work now?Some . . .
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He remembers having to kneel on a chair and braceone hand against the kitchen table to steady himself,the other dipping into the aquarium.—from “Opening the Palm”, Winter 2018 (Vol. 59, Issue 4) Tell us about one of the first pieces you wrote.One of my earliest poems was about a dog named Bosco . . .
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Up here, you’re just flecksin the emerald. Which I’d never sayto hurt you. I’m saying a hundred bodiesrunning through a field chasing onewind-whipped mustard sari——from “the mountains speak to the village”, Winter 2018 (Vol. 59, Issue 4) Tell us about one of the first pieces you wrote.One of the oldest poems . . .
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I am afraid that all my ancestorshave gathered my words like birds collect hair from the deadfor nesting, an abundance of silence, whole spools of it ready to tetherme to the trees.—from “Minidoka Was a Concentration Camp in Idaho”, Winter 2018 (Vol. 59, Issue 4) Tell us about one of the first . . .
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Ever since the walk that Saturday, the modest but set-with-care-into-the-lawn homemade sign has haunted me, its simple black font on a rectangle of white foam core. I couldn’t believe what I had seen, didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry. It stood in my neighbors’ yard, the same neighbors who on . . .
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You know what we used to do? When we had a questions that we couldn’t answer? We carved them into bones. To ask the king. Will we be visited by sickness? Will we be visited by disaster? By harm? By evil?—From “Oracle Bones,” Winter 2018 (Vol. 59, Issue 4) Tell us about . . .
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