Big Sky
Big sky, how you fillwith hope mid-oceanmid-prairie, mid-uplands.Mountain tops recallferocious winds worthyof note.They sing the one notein the roof rack, the onewhistled tree downedin clover leaf overpasslast tumbles of mediandebris...
Afterward, in Waves
I’m no longer afraid of not doingthe right thing.
I leave clothes on the drying rackfor days.
Reading, I eat chocolate,smear the page.
It’s not...
This poem is published as part of the Amplifying Disabled Voices special section, selected by editors Christopher Heuer, Marlena Chertock, and Gregory Luce.
Duloxetinei wake...
Sea Monster
A secret: all the oceans are one oceanAnd the ocean looks the same everywhere.Nevertheless, let us praise the white hour,When the depths disappear...
These poems are part of a special section of the Mid-Atlantic Review, Celebrating Black History, and selected by editors Khadijah Ali-Coleman, Carolivia Herron, and...
Consider The Frappuccino
caffeine’s godly powers
are only a few slurps away.
banish ennui! conquest thought with energy!
don’t taste, except what you remember you tasted of
the first...
Haiku For Ella
Ella FitzgeraldWas the truth and the devilIs a boldfaced lie
Ode to Bass
Take the chords high and lowMake that rhythm flowPush that groove...
Artists and physicists may argue whether or not black is a color, a shade or even the absolute absence of color itself. But the iconic artist Mark Rothko doesn’t see black as any of these single, narrow definitions.
