By Leah Brennan I hold it in my hand like a baseball— the glass apple paperweight inscribed with my name. I am trained to scan for objects, to weaponize the room, to lock the door from the outside, dismantle the workspace, reassign it to the front line, a hedge of student-chairs, impossibly small desks attached … More Paperweight

Dispatch from this Summer

By Elizabeth Bradfield   Gypsy moth: Lymantria dispar dispar Frayed, moth-eaten, vulnerable. Those Florida dancers gunned down & my young self coming out dancing & pathetic fallacy (dispar dispar) crawls all over June’s fresh oaks, gnawing them to a February canopy. The news, bad oracle, gnaws fact & rumor. Above, unrelenting mastication, defoliation. Lymantria, ‘destroyer,’ … More Dispatch from this Summer

Yes, And

By Amorak Huey    If I say everything is a gun you have to say yes, and the gun is always going off. If I say someone could get hurt, you have to say yes, and that’s what it means to be alive. I say, does it have to be like that? You say yes, and … More Yes, And

“Bullets into Bells” Event at Boston Public Library

Bullets into Bells Event at Boston Public Library Co-editors Brian Clements, Alexandra Teague and Dean Rader reflect on gun violence in America through poetry and the voice of victims of gun violence before an audience at the Boston Public Library. They are joined by poets Martín Espada, Jill McDonough, and Rebecca Morgan Frank, and Aimee Tavares, (National Organizing Director … More “Bullets into Bells” Event at Boston Public Library


By Dick Allen On December 27, 2017, the poet Dick Allen passed away. He had a long and productive writing career, publishing several collections including, most recently, This Shadowy Place, which won the 2013 New Criterion Poetry Prize, as well as Present Vanishing: Poems (2008). Former poet laureate of the state of Connecticut, Allen retired … More Solace


By Roshie Xing i. Innocence The first time it happened, I was ten. Almost ten and a quarter, I liked to protest. Numbers are such a big deal when you’re young. It was near the end of the day when they herded us into the auditorium, the sound of children chattering a fluid undercurrent of … More Again