The Blog

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Samuel Amadon

Out in the bitter blue over the vacant street

The night before into morning as it filled

With news of what we’d known as we slept

Now written out. A fact we met, we meet still.

I went with Lizzie through the day, in a state,

Passing supermarket strangers, one two three,

Catherine Pond

Snow flanks the street, shoveled in piles higher than my head. It was the winter

of lost gloves and ear infections, of iced-over porch parties, of long-johns.

I lived with four girls. In the photo, my nails are Pepto pink, and the girls gather

around me, faces blurry in the frame. I remember the smell of their perfume—

Talin Tahajian

When the last stellar-studded gown swept across the whole

bleeding world, I cried. The pearly night ate me up. Marveling,

you ask, What is it like, living in the larval object? I used to know—

the same goes for our sloshing planet. Now, I forget most things.

The darkness is round and white. It has become glorious and full.

Aria Aber

Crossing salt marshes in German sun,

my body brackets itself into a violable mass of skin:

I’m brown again, insignificant as a footnote. My father’s pride

in his second-hand Renault Megane—after years of driving

the white sedan with the duct-taped side mirror—knives me

Katie Willingham

The actor rehearses alone, before the rehearsal,

to get the lines right. If I could remember

everything, I doubt it would appear like

elegant scaffolding, a face on top, and limbs, how

they gesture now, in June, towards June things:

a dress covered in boats, leaves flashing their undersides