Poetry

BREATHINGBy Bryan McCormack    BreathingThe father’s breathing steadiedto a light,sputtering hum.Outside his door, the sonlistened carefully, ingesting the hum’svibrations, producing another sputterin his eardrums.It was like this before, when the son was a boy,and it continues...

ONE WEEK DAYWHILE WALKING By Jeremy Gadd    One week day while walking downWattle Street, I heard a cry thatbrought me to a halt in mid-stridelike a prisoner shackled to a wall,and my heart missed a beat,...

LIVE LIFE BECAUSEBy Samantha Kriney You Were the Start, the Peace, My First Years                                    --after Barry White My feet loved the touch of my mother’s womb until thefirst note you sung to teach me how to controlmy...

HOMAGE TO ORWELLBy Tomas Sanchez Hidalgo Homage to Orwell,           surrounded by slot machines,in the main hall(perhaps the Tanjiers?)by the penultimateof our national heroes,perfect for adults and children,proud to bethe gear lever in Europe,respecting the margin for...

    SACRIFICEBy Georgia Eugenides    THE SUMMER I NEVER HADin the morningi search for myself everywhere,under ivory sheets that smell of cinnamon, between porcelain jarson the highest kitchen shelf and among blue, crossed outpoems in my notebooki...

NOW I SEEBy Mignon Ariel King Chifforobe Daddy had one, so when its three tones of art-deco woodcreaked open on tiny black hinges to emit a breath of cedar,I fell in love. I could see the...

WHO AM IBy Emily Eigenheer I Am My Own Army My name is not singular,It is not a single entity,Rather a collection of names that have been acquired over time.I come from two very different people,The...

Poetry by SERGEY CHERNYSHEVTranslated by Boris Kokotov  Sound Flesh flickers: smoke, a man,an anthill. Sound, blunt and hollow,still palpitates  inside the frozen headand wags its tail -- green, red, and yellow. It’s empty. With a wanton tonguehanging...

CHASMBy Lisa Brognano     CHASMHe yells to her overBig bank of hills andSees nothing but bluntBrown banks and a snakeRiver below.She hears Tom and fromHer ledge moves a little,Sees the river and some grass.He strains and...

POEMAS DE MICHAEL SPRINGTraduzido por Maria João Marques surrealista no tempo não há mais árvorespara arrancar do seu corpo de cada buraco espreita um olhocomo um amanhecer inteiro atraindoenxames de relógios e ponteiros fecha os olhos e torna-se nada...