Last poem of the month (which has mysteriously stretched well into the next, hmm).
"Maybe if we reinvent whatever our lives give us /
we find poems."
A Valentine for Ernest Mann, Naomi Shihab Nye - https://t.co/jUIpaqbKtl
Because it's A.E. Stallings, this is clever and intricate and playful while holding tight to form. And about something so specific and delightfully mundane.
The Mother’s Loathing of Balloons - https://t.co/wjS2RKjdUb
from Moon for Aisha, Aracelis Girmay:
A poem to a friend before they knew each other:
"not my friend, yet, /
but, somehow — Out There."
https://t.co/XSxvjFiEHo
Marie Howe's writing can be so understated and deceptively simple. There's so much here packed into such a small space, a title and single sentence. Fourteen: https://t.co/HOiCar7p0x
Going through an abecedarian phase, apparently. This is a killer one, by Natalie Diaz.
"Angels don’t come to the reservation. /
Bats, maybe, or owls, boxy mottled things. /
Coyotes, too. They all mean the same thing— /
death."
https://t.co/JSujLkEUi2
Joyce Sutphen, The Wordsworth Effect -
"Is when you return to a place /
and it’s not nearly as amazing /
as you once thought it was," -
https://t.co/BgxFpTAdN0