The Blog

Notes on Red

Landis Grenville

                                      The orchard was

and the knuckles of a man after boxing, the linen
cast off the bed, a woman holding him in the red

between her legs. Her mouth moving is the measure
of triage. And no one dies of red, though it’s messy.

Longing in the Age of Quantum Mechanics

Lance Larsen

At the Tate she rhapsodized
about the shapes

in Braque so I stepped in to see
what it was she saw

Never mind she said
without your broken shadow

playing across his lines
it’s just another boring cubist nude


Lance Larsen is the author of five poetry collections, most recently What the Body Knows (Tampa, 2018). His poems have appeared in APR, TLS, Southern Review, Ploughshares, Poetry, Orion, MQR, New York Review of Books, Threepenny Review, Paris Review, New Republic, New England Review, and Best American Poetry 2009.


Henry Mills

Suitcases in the car, I found abuelo
knelt by his bed,
smelling of guaro, praying
for his late son, Roberto,
Homecoming Queen,
who paraded in a pink dress
even my tia (cross-herself)-admitted,
looked fabulous.


Subscribe to The Blog