Poetry

I remember icy water hauled up in a bucket from a well we were wandering by […]

What’s Left to Tell by Matthew Thorburn

I’ll push against— what did you say—any edge. An orchid cannot impregnate it- self. Stamen & […]

I starved for the shade of sugar, for a body like a Bukharan coin. I danced […]

She lifts them one by one from buckets fishermen brought from Kopavogur–today, brown trout, tomorrow, char–after […]

All summer we found edges: spine pushed against the rusted Mustang in the shop smelling of […]

The pears moved according to the air’s lips and then the plums, second to bloom all […]

You dream a pair of painted buntings, which is not an omen; they overwinter in your […]

Rejoice! they say. Forget that you learned to keep your arms at your sides, your hands […]

If art is the surveillance of nature, how much bigger can you get, Kant— absolutely great. […]

but the universe was always always. So, too, were we, though on another branch of time you […]

Kristi Maxwell is the author of six books of poems, including Bright and […]

He stands by a river and all those women, his desire still thick as confection. Yes […]