Poems of the Week: 2024

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  Her girlish hand the color of rich vanilla floating over the flotsam.

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  Everyone has something lodged and jittering inside them.

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  It was a Hmong villager who roped you with dogs on the chase.

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  Men veer into the earth and don’t come out. Silent choirs of canaries roost in a forest of chimneys.

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  My advice would be not to trust. The ocean is just the ocean until I say otherwise.

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  Everything doesn’t have to mean something, he once said. Now that he’s a father, I want to read him the thing I’m writing about fathers.

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  I slide my heart inside a folded sheet of paper and tape down the opening.

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Poem of the Week

• Bruce BondGrace
• Averill CurdyMaintenance
• John GlowneyThe Buried Coal Miners at Sipesville
• J. P. GrasserGone, the old verve, gone
• Brian GyamfiDirt
• Daniel HalpernGood Morning
• Emma Rosemary JaquesAubade, with Love as a Watermelon
• Tyler KlineBeasts
• Jon D. LeePig Shit Cannon
• Anne Haven McDonnellInside a Lateness, a Singing under Snow
• Madeline MieleHow to Read a Poem
• Amy MillerThe Aging Body as a
  Japanese Garden
• Rosalie MoffettTransfer of Power
• Lena Moses-SchmittLetter to Myself in the Future #4
• Lena Moses-SchmittLetter to Myself in the Future #15
• Michael O’RyanHorse Thief
• Martha Paz-SoldanMestra as Translator
• Caitlin RoachWashington
• Edward SalemStereolab
• Javier SandovalA Hard Blessing
• Alex TretbarMultivalent Elegy, Three Days After Summer Solstice
• Mai Der VangTame External Features Come Birthing Endangered in a Cage
• Lizabeth YandelDad—