Poem of the Day: Ada Limón

  Help me turn my mind off. Help me be more than a song. The stress like a crow’s open flame. Help me to not give up on forgiveness. The work has become too wild here. Help me. Help me— (Days like today, poetry reminds me to live.)   INSTRUCTIONS ON NOT GIVING UP  …

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Poem of the Day: Julie Bruck

                  —after Philip Larkin   TO BRING THE HORSE HOME   Is all I’ve wanted past wanting since I was six and delirious with fever, an infinitive forged from a night when giant ladybugs with toothpick antennae patrolled my wicker nightstand. Yes, I’ve been with horses since, travelled illegally with them in trailers, known certain…

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Poem of the Day: Cynthia Cruz

  SELF-PORTRAIT   I did not want my body Spackled in the world’s Black beads and broke Diamonds. What the world Wanted, I did not. Of the things It wanted. The body of Sunday Morning, the warm wine and The blood. The dripping fox Furs dragged through the black New York snow—the parked car, the…

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Poem of the Day: Lisa Nanette Allender

  L.V. WOMEN   The Women wear their hair like a blonde ballet trained to perform each golden strand sun-bleached and chemical-precision, in perfect position. The women wear their skin unnaturally tight dry and porous like the concrete surrounds, pneumatic-pillow breasts under their gowns. The women wear their men on their arms never hand-in-hand, old…

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Poem of the Day: Michalle Gould

  WHEN I WAS NAKED   I was the sturdy bowl of plums half-buried in snow outside the artist’s studio. He paints the shades of purple reflected in condensed water on my skin. I was the snowy hill topped by a nun’s black habit, a fall of dark hair descending to wintry shoulders, an infinite…

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Reading Tracey Knapp

  TO THE NEW MOON   Come night. Come sirens and midnight babies born in the backseats of taxicabs. Come moon. You crazy weeping alcoholic, quit drinking yourself into nothingness. Someone’s trumpet has gone missing tonight. Someone is looking for you, holding your hairbrush to the nose of a bloodhound. Leave your shadow on the…

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Reading Allan Peterson

  CONTINENTAL   We were sinking The windows were filling with cities as if poured into glasses No one was thinking of drowning No one thinking air ship but there we were submerging A captain turned off the cabin lights We folded our tables    headed down quietly The moon holding its breath floated up   KNOWLEDGE…

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Reading David Dodd Lee

  THE WHITE SEA   Spin the big wheel of weather. So it’s seven degrees. I could have sworn it was balmy and getting ready         to storm eight minutes ago. One definition of a slob is someone who runs out to the street through a foot of snow in slippers and…

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