Lit Poetry

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1. I am watching you get sick. The whites of your eyes are becoming yellow yolks; cheeks hang like grocery bags. You make diets...

The first ghost I met   said he could extinguish   me like a candle flame.   A single gust, and I’d be gone. I learned to breathe light   into every cell...

Go-go boots.                                                                                                                After Dorianne Laux Satin blouse. Dining hall porcelain cradling oolong.   Garbage liner. Woven handles on a handbag. Zigzags on an auntie’s knitted blanket. Secret...

We were wild and determined that night, me sixteen, firm and flowering, needing to be loved. He was just some guy from school, looking older than eighteen, football player...

The 1799 birth certificate has a poem in its design. We read it, admire the art, and then my daughter asks, “Daddy, what’s my birth poem?” I’m oddly embarrassed to...

Butterflies, Saskia are hard to   catch,   your small legs leaping,   your will   are not sufficient. They   fly, their silvery   evanescence,   is just the right amount   of temporary.   Corey Mesler has published seven novels, three books of short stories,...

You flutter past my passenger-side window, bouncing through turbulence, wings luminous: a velvet Elvis under black light, collar glowing, satin lamb chops rising and falling on hinges.   I hold...

I sometimes think we are like a knotted pumpkin, or a twisted and misshapen bed of autumn squash, beautiful in our imperfections.       Curtis Dunlap lives near the confluence of the...

In second grade, she cut her hair, taking the blunt art class scissors and squeezing off a thick lock in the middle of her forehead. a Her mother grounded...

How odd that you prefer   Spirits talking   over a woman alone on a stage.   So be it. I will tell you   I am a flute   the wind whispers through.   Listen...