The Blog


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.

Home Birth

Noelle Armstrong

Last night I watched The Unassisted Home Birth of Felix Alexander Pt. 2. I
was most struck by the moment when the baby’s gray face emerged. Her
partner was wiping her ass right above Felix’s gray little face. Frightening
proximity of shit. Sent this to Ana Cecilia and she said: dear god. As in
dear god—deliver me from this? It makes sense now, the whole saga of

Plum Island

Zachary Bos

Which are you going to do, small plovers?
Run for cover, or take the plunge? Neither;
you just hover at the shoreline, where waves
smooth and resmooth the sand, til it’s as raw
as scraped calfskin. Little poem makers . . . 
What are you writing, plovers? With your feet
stamping cuneiform into the beach:


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