by Zakia Carpenter-Hall | Mar 25, 2026 | Featured, Poetry
Hurst Reservoir In the sharpness of a January wind we stepped down, feeling with neoprened feet for the safety of the edge. Bags and clothes huddled on a plastic picnic sheet. We launched, lovingly into dark and silky water unknown yet benign....
by Zakia Carpenter-Hall | Mar 24, 2026 | Featured, Poetry
Sanctum Without God You did not ask for knees — They found the floor themselves. Not from command, But gravity. Your name became architecture. Something vaulted. Something echoing. Something built to make small sounds feel holy. I stopped calling...
by Zakia Carpenter-Hall | Mar 23, 2026 | Featured, Poetry
Buried That winter the snow kept rising, a slow white wall climbing the windows, each morning untouched, the whole world muffled under it. A hush so complete it felt like a hand pressed gently over the mouth. I pulled on my snow pants, my jacket....
by Zakia Carpenter-Hall | Mar 22, 2026 | Featured, Poetry
Bureaucracies of Water I’ve been reading about ghost apples. They are a real phenomenon, like how everyone we can see on the wide street outside this building is still living, managing thus far, attending appointments, the fissures in their...
by Zakia Carpenter-Hall | Mar 21, 2026 | Featured, Poetry
THE APPRENTICE OF GROUNDHOG DAY I tried to work from a van. Sitting in the passenger seat listening to a guy whistle. His frown, a cloud he lost when his mother died. Each wrinkle he laid as mortar on a wall. More bricks, more weight. I’d watch...
by Helen Ivory | Mar 20, 2026 | Featured, Poetry
wild cows Those full udders will slowly burst spitting milk onto the grass strands. Will roll down to feed the roots below. Then the weeds will follow. Weeds will grow next spring. Weeds will unfold as bulbous udders without holes – un-milked –...
