By Isabel Duarte-Gray
Sunday we lay hands on a girl of ten hand on hand on cornsilk hair. We sing the secret language sung...
Explore Poems: Town & Country Life
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- By Benjamin GucciardiWe lived in a stone farmhouse at the edge of town. I’d been assigned to process asylum claims and you...
- By Anna TomlinsonSauerkraut festival, sauerkraut ice cream from a tiny paper cup. Places you could get lost in. Bike ...
- By John TickhillIn springtime, chief of all seasons, in May when new joys rise and flourish, the sun is lord and messenger...
- By Tracy K. Smith200 cows more than 600 hilly acres property would have been even larger had J not sold 66 acres to DuPont...
- By Bruce SniderShe lip-syncs “Hello God,” then “9 to 5.” She struts. Or does she fly? Like the soul, a rhinestone, ...
- By CAConradGrowing up in a rural factory town I watched my creative family extend the grind oft monotonous jobs...
- By Osip MandelstamToo black, too much indulged, living in clover, all little withers, all air, all charity, all crumbling...
- By RK FauthTake me to the holler. I want to see the cows Big Mamaw’s grave and something about tobacco fields. ...
- By Daye PhillippoI have learned to love turning a bar of soap and the calendar’s empty pages in my hands, soft lather...
- By Pablo OtavaloIn midsentence. Like a pregnant sow in another mud- and mire-laden trench, your hay-stuffed midland ...
- By Tina Mozelle BrazielMy first trip, I scoured every floor of the MoMA, winding around other patrons before they could read...
- By Donald HallDecember, and the closing of the year; The momentary carolers complete Their Christmas Eves, and quickly...
- By Vievee FrancisI want to put down what the mountain has awakened. My mouthful of grass. My curious tale. I want to ...
- By Aigerim Tazhifrom resurrection to sunday we cross off dates on the calendar waiting for salvation it comes in the...
- By Tyree DayeThis where all the roadside memorials are, pink wreaths and dirty teddy bears. This where a man walked...
- By Quincy Troupeif you want to jump up inside energy, cross over from manhattan to brooklyn in september, every year...
- By Luther HughesHalf-past morn, the town is on fire. Sunlight had sloughed its way through Greentree Apartment Homes...
- By Mary SwanderHey, diddle, diddle, the cow jumped down, the whole kit and caboodle, and you the moon. Driving north from town...
- By Mary SwanderVan Dry, Van Wilt, Van Sickle— O, ye of little faith, another winter without snow, another April creek...