Wetsuit
by Regina Weinert — The hollow body hangs / in the cupboard under the stairs / headless hands and feet // detached ...
The Friday Poem archive
How to Speak Crocodile
by Christina Dunhill — Better not to speak at all. Be circumspect. / Encourage others to speak out. Offer tender grunts ...
The Inheritors
by Christopher James — Before we gave up the farm to the scarecrows, / we trod the bounds one last time, following / the tracks ...
Because this is a Venice Poem (after Tishani Doshi)
by Rachel Spence — Expect to hear the words lagoon, pigeon, crumbling. / Expect to read of water as desire ...
Return to Ithaca
by Mark McDonnell — He arranges chairs, has quiet words / with waiters, reprises their old walks / in a golf buggy so she can get around ...
Oh, someday, girl, I don’t know when
by Sharon Black — The swing-seat is shaded / by hanging rhododendrons / whose leaves and flowers ...
Tammy Wynette
by Dane Holt — The only records found in my grandmother’s attic / were by scorned women for scorned women / written by men ...
After What You Have Been Through
by Lex Runciman — If you have roses, it would be good / to water them now, though it be late, late / September ...
Morphine Driver
by Nia Broomhall — We could hear it was working from the soft shunt of fluid / through the tube and the reassuring whisper // she’s fine ...
The Wheel
by Kathryn Bevis — It begins like this: in January a single stitch / slips from her needles. By Candlemas, / her paintings, shelves of knick-knacks start / to stray