Category - Poetry

David Ly Literature Poetry

Ways to Deal with Worry

1.  Write what you worry about on sticky notes.     Throw them on the ground and draw a circle of water around them.     Sprinkle salt onto the circle to light it on fire. 2.  Start by texting, “I’m worried that…” in a message to yourself.     Think about how sweet pecan pie...

Katie Cameron Literature Poetry

Ode to my ears

Pain thuds the drum before I leave the ear appointment, but the clinic staff wave me out the door. The throbs become thumps of bass through floor boards and I call 811, wincing against my pillow. The thumps release into fizzing, then sputtering I laugh off over tea and a roommate’s raised...

Literature Poetry Sarah M. Wilson

Blackberry Picking

after Claudia Rankine / Today: You perch at your kitchen table, a swell of distraction surrounding your screen: discarded wristwatch, stained cotton wipes full of thick black nailpolish, your third pot of bitter tea. You click between determination and avoidance, between the crushing metronome of...

Ashley-Elizabeth Best Literature Poetry

the best thing about today

Today my mother sent me a framed picture of her heart,ladybug stickers in each corner. A chest preparing for new growth. I’m not sorry anymore that she doesn’t like her life. My poemsare dispirited by her, thick mentions of roadtrips, and landscapesand pissing into Lay’s Stax canisters while...

Gen Ansong Literature Poetry

Two Boys on the Shore

On the night of a restless saucer moon, as the budding surfs jitterbug and the cold sleeps inside the toothy groove of your back, I wind my wet linen around your neck like a corsair’s love noose, make it loose as the meaning behind the white honey frothing within your open mouth, blue lips...

Hugh Blackthorne Literature Poetry

The Ungirling

There was no book on how to girl. I read all the books about animals at the library. When my mother gave me a book on puberty, I drew penises. I became track suits, jean jackets, short hair. My bones grew. In the city, I swirled caught without ponds, between asphalt and decay. My friends were boys...