GASTROPODA

Beckoning in silver bark that defies the spring snow, She shows me tender unfurling catkin  cascading from her skin, preparing for seed, ...

Max collects bugs. Crickets, cicadas, stick insects, one golden Weta. Rae helps him to catch moths and butterflies, North Island Lichen,...

cabbage, tomato, and rice topped with orange cheese; tongue burnt in a bite. Terri Gower is an English as an Additional Language Teacher...

I rock away my loneliness in a hammock behind our new rental, with its unpacked boxes, its knotty pine cabinets, its old trees in the...

yeah, tracy. as if it’s a place. the poem doesn’t have a soul. any blood. plasmid, scion of slugs. not the religious or lyrical heart....

Hope is hard. We imagine it must be planted in the rich, wet earth, sheltered from frost and hail and the scorching heat of middle-day....

the tree line is an old eyebrow behind a faceless snow. a truck swerves to miss someone fallen, shovel flung in the air. the flakes try...

Maybe you don’t believe in the Loch Ness Monster. Maybe you’ve never thought to. There’s a lot to concern yourself with in the sixth...

Holiday Socks Sitting alone again, in my apartment, my reflection in the turned-off television. The red tips of my holiday socks (raptors...

Alone in her room, Gladys traces the edge of the world, picturing a wall with a sign: “The End.” She watches herself climb to the top of...

An outlaw, a swindling hero, I was also just a woman. Born with all the privilege a girl could have, I looked up at the evening sky for a...

We never imagined life without them. Then one day, with no eruption or rending of earth, Poof — peaks, slopes and valleys are fields,...

Why don’t you tell us so tell us so we know where you come from so we know how to talk to you so we know what you do for a living so do...

The snow has finally left us—the last bit of it melted into a puddle at the top of the driveway. Foraging robins scatter across the...

How did you come up with the title? The title was actually where the idea for the poem derived. During a specific meditation practice the...

after Hanif Abdurraqib God, I can no longer tell the difference between divine intervention and wishful thinking. Perhaps that’s proof of...

Smile sweetly when his bag whacks you on the head as he makes his way to the back of the bus. Whisper ‘no problem’ even though he hasn’t...

Move through your grief as if through water. Clench and kick and tread through its density, feel the salt wash over you, sometimes a...

Faces chalk white and bone, we sit behind the casket, the sorrow in the room enough to cradle our bodies the same way the marble sky...

On the first day of August, the lake in the forest swelled like the belly of a waterlogged corpse. I sat on the shore and wrote a book...