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Casanova

Serhiy Zhadan transl. by Alan Zhukovski

When you greeted each other / your palms / like embers in cigarette stubs / red and hot / showed from your sleeves


Poetry, Fiction, & Nonfiction   

2 Stories

Brenda Peynado

Still, she liked what she had become. She slept in a den of sticks of her own making. Language and its judgment escaped her. Was being animal closer to God than innocence? Her voice was her breath. She was still alive.

3 Poems

Shamala Gallagher

Elsewhere, some later year, I’ll try to be good. Today I don’t care.

House on Toluca

Jesus De La Torre

Bars or no bars, if you did have something worth having, they’d take it, whether you were ridiculous about home security or not.

Artificial Flower Garden

Sara McGuirk

excuse me this chambray tie / this cummerbund, these plain chops, / these dull lips. I’ve no guilt for gild's sake.

From the Archives

YOU CAN’T ESCAPE WHEN YOU’VE BEEN UNDERWATER ALL ALONG

Robert Krut

...here / in the ocean caves where we breathe air, / sweet air, dewy with imprints of the shark / crimes, where the waves carry long lost envelopes

For Samuel Beckett

Jean-Philippe Toussaint trans. Edward Gauvin

In the early ’80s, I wrote Samuel Beckett a letter. I explained that I was trying to write, adding that he was probably often sought out by strangers,…

Mesas and Particles

Joni Wallace

Some nights inside the caterwaul of coyotes / the telephone rings, very late or very early. / Then my father walks out into darkness. / My mother still sleeping / and I am.

Two Poems: American Travelogue & Life Drawing

Caroline Crew

You see the flower's form leak into itself. A self. Some things in America still make sense. I open my junk mail, Disney red. Your family. Liquid uttered out into the night freezes your dreams undone. Veracity leaves its whispers. Make an orchestra instead. Every bitten breath

From the Blog

BLM Resources & Links

In response to anti-Black racist violence, help us support Black lives through literature and art, as well as efforts for justice in Houston, by donating…

D.A. Powell on "The Mad Place" of Poetry

"You can use language and be absolutely true to what you’re saying, and at the same time people have an opportunity to misread it as something scintillating…