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From Erika L. Sánchez:

April 18, 2017

am I asking to be spared
or am I asking to be spread your body
smelled like cathedrals and I kept
your photo in a bottle of mezcal
semen-salt wolf’s teeth you should have
touched my eyes until they blistered

Saudade, found on Rattle

From Carmen Giménez Smith:

April 13, 2017

I was light from the mouth from every part of me
I was of the earth or a scar in the earth rent through
the ruins of late civilization and bubbled from it and
became a saint’s reptilian spirit and I could taste
the wheat and coal and gold like a trinity of bounty
and I was vapor like a smog that becomes a wraith
over the city then back to its animal form decompressed
and atomized into its past life as star and I was that animal
truth
“Post-Identity”, found on Rattle

From Aimee Nezhukumatathil

March 31, 2017
When I hear your name I can’t forget
how your long torso pressed against my bare back,
bluish in this early light. Your fingers shot into me, popped
my spine into a wicked arch. There is no lack
of how it haunts me still—what I bid—lost, sacked
and wrapped for other girls. I should have looked up
to see who else was bidding, but I studied the folds in your jacket.
My limit is spent, loud and certain as the auctioneer’s racket.
– From After the Auction, I Bid You Good-Bye

From Aimee Nezhukumatathil

March 29, 2017
Are All The Break-ups in Your Poems Real?
If by real you mean as real as a shark tooth stuck
in your heel, the wetness of a finished lollipop stick,
the surprise of a thumbtack in your purse—
then Yes, every last page is true, every nuance,
bit, and bite.
– From “Are All the Break-ups in Your Poems Real?”

From Robin Robertson:

March 15, 2017

meet me

where the sun goes down

meet me

in the cave, under the battleground

meet me

on the broken branch

meet me

in the shade, below the avalanche

meet me

under the witch’s spell

meet me

tonight, in the wishing well

meet me

on the famine lawn

meet me

in the eye of the firestorm

– “Trysts”, from Sailing the Forest

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From Adele Barclay:

March 11, 2017

When we brought wolves home,

how could we know what would happen?

You hold your cards so close

they swaddle your chest when you sleep.

– From “Aubade II” (If I Were in a Cage, I’d Reach out for You.)

From Robin Robertson:

March 8, 2017

Her long body in the spangled shade of the wood

was a swimmer moving through a pool:

fractal, finned by leaf and light;

the loose plates of lozenge and rhombus

wobbling coins of sunlight.

When she stopped, the water stopped,

and the sun re-made her as a tree,

banded and freckled and foxed.

– “Swimming in the Woods”

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