Deborah Karl-Brandt

      The Peace of Winter With every book I sell, with every piece of clothing I give away, with every one of my old toys I bury deep into the trash bin, I feel a bone deep tiredness creeping into my soul. I know, I know, I have to let go. But please...

Philip Dunkerley

      Everything Changes  Goiás Velho, Brazil (for Terezinha Pereira da Silva) We leave early, drive for two and a half hours, park, find the church where you were married. Later, in town, an information officer listens, searches assiduously through the...

Marc Janssen

      Salem January IV The sky opens Blinking its single slackened eye. It grumbly gets up. Before shuttering again and whatever blue was there Is gone. It’s gone again.     What is there left to say about Marc Janssen? Maybe, his verse is...

Sigune Schnabel tr. Simon Lèbe

      Mother She cut letters out of me, which quietly and unnoticed danced red poems. In the autumn wind, they fell at her feet and rustled decay. Since then, my name wears holes. I counted myself off on five fingers and planted my remains in the...

Jeff Skinner

      Erato It takes ages. Tell me what it is you’re after she says, when finally I get through. Rain, I answer, rain that falls softly in a garden, and on the Aegean, the noise they make together, trees in the rain, and the way rain brightens the green...