A new poem by Sarah D. Lawson.

Kiarra Patterson is a finalist in Day Eight's annual open-to-all poetry competition, the DC Poet Project. Read more about the DC Poet Project here and attend the...

POEM ENDING WITH A NESTLING CRADLED IN MY HUSBAND’S LARGE HAND Because of the time difference I waketo a text from my husband, sent the...

When Langston Hughes Livedat 1749 S Street, NW, Washington, D.C. 1 Living with your motherand younger brother couldn’thave been easy. In two rooms,with one oil heateryou...

Naima Prevots introduction to the "State of the Arts" focus section originally published in Bourgeon Vol.3 #1

Marvelous Creeper It seeps,it creeps.Emerging, crawling,a marring of sky.Amber deepens to pumpkin,the distortion less unsettling.Soon, a blood orange supplants everything.We sit here, marveling. Not waiting,not...

Grandgirl, you are in my bed now, and in all of it. You are horizontal and your soccer feet are planted like oaks on the far...

One time when I was young my father asked me to help him in the shop by sanding some wood. I began sanding the board against the grain. When my Dad barked at me for it I threw the sanding block down and never helped him again. So perhaps it’s fitting that for the past thirteen years my work has focused almost exclusively on the natural beauty of wood.

drought anatomy #4 dried out creek beddry stacked stonethe limbs of a woodstove, relatively ancientscattered leaves dropped off their rusty hingesthe vestigial chaos of the...