Category: Poetry

The State of Red, A Poem by Mandana Zandian

Editors’ Note: Back in their spring/summer issue, The Atlanta Review brought us “the very first poetry from inside the pro-democracy movement in Iran.” We asked the editor, Sholeh Wolpé, if we could reprint a couple of the poems.

And then she said yes! This is the second of those poems x

Douglas Kearney Discusses the Page Versus Stage and other questions from The Black Automaton

I wanted to go back to the lab, and try to write poems that would demand the eye, demand a reader. And not only demand it, but reward it.

I’m not even going to lie to you; I want to be a poet people remember.

It is totally possible that one day I’m going to feel I’m sick of writing about black face and minstrel shows, and race, and I will write a poem about seeing my wife coming out of the swimming pool.

Religion, A Poem by Amy Motlagh

Back in their spring/summer issue, The Atlanta Review brought us “the very first poetry from inside the pro-democracy movement in Iran.” The spring issue contains a powerful, moving, and devastating collection of poems. In fact, we asked the editor, Sholeh Wolpé, if we could reprint a couple of the poems.

And then she said yes! x

Sixteen Gauge

Poetry by Alyssa Ogi

My grandmother could not understand
why I’d want metal shoved through my ear cartilage,
the first in family history with intentional holes.
I said “there’s no reason,”

Shooting Ladybugs

Apá’s voice pierces through the front door, as we play outside
on the porch taking turns letting a ladybug crawl inside our palms.
Apá is in the kitchen with Amá, screaming about how Mr. Craig,
whose house he painted the exterior of, refuses to pay.

December

Poetry by Kristine Ong Muslim

This cold has taught me
about the nature of souls.

Although I have known
a long time ago that the body
is meant to be a sieve for

Cormorant Complicate

Poetry by Talia Reed

at 5:30 in the afternoon she fumbled out of the dark bedroom,

into a kitchen.
an example of highly unusual fauna.

she googled the word kerosene…

Maps

Poetry by Diego Báez

What besides the white roofs of school buses,
powder blue power plants alongside oxbow lakes,

unmanned aircraft and empty envelopes?

Purple martins in the smoke of Blue Ridge

Baby Eater

Poetry by Sharon Cicilian

Over Easter brunch her mother-in-law inquired,
Why haven’t you given me any grandbabies yet?
The eyes of her in-laws fixated on her. She smiled,