Today’s choice
Previous poems
Paula R. Hilton
Eating Apple Pie with Louisa May Alcott
When the genie appears, I’m in a frivolous
mood. First request? My mom’s apple pie.
Genie, exceeding expectations, delivers it
hot. As steam rises from slits in its cinnamon
dusted crust, I cut two slices. One for me.
One for Louisa, my hero. My second wish.
Yes, I tell her. Those are golden delicious
apples. We used to pick them from the orchard
behind our house. The whole forest’s a subdivision
now, but Genie tells me nothing’s impossible
when he’s around. Louisa eats while I ramble.
Would you sign my copy of Little Women?
She marvels at the ballpoint pen I hand her.
I always wanted to be Jo, you know? A writer,
nonconformist— Louisa, clicking the Bic
in her hand, laughs, dismisses: As you wasted
wishes on trivialities—dessert and necromancy,
I’d say you are more of an Amy. I gasp as if
she’s slapped me. Use my last wish to tell
Genie: Take Louisa May Alcott away.
Paula R. Hilton explores the immediacy of memory and how our most important relationships define us. Her work has appeared in The Sunlight Press, ONE ART, Feminine Collective, and elsewhere. She earned an MFA from the University of New Orleans. Website: https://paularhilton.com/
K. S. Moore
Field Trip Abercregan 1991 Even the river is dark . . . sun only gains entry through trees makes copper faces that turn as I wade. My net brushes tendrils from transparent cheekbones water framing each elegant pose: I want to put these girls on...
Zoe Piponides
This Oh So Bearable Lightness If you should lose this oh so bearable lightness be warned, I shall overturn your day, tear it apart, ensure it ends in the dark. I’ll mould your skin in sodium yellow, load you with enzymes till your gut swells...
Jane Ayres
monstering our splintered selves always on the cusp of something terrible waiting for us to enter waiting to enter us inside/outside/inside did you feed them? suddenly we are washed meat and the dress is clean Jane Ayres...
Kate Harper
The Youth Pastor We are in the church, the space where we swayed, arms high, singing and crying and feeling the power of the spirit pulse through us and around us. He has been circling for weeks, his eyes resting on her when he preaches chastity...
James Nixon
James Nixon teaches at Arden University and is completing doctoral research into the legacy of Arthur Rimbaud and hauntological poetics at Goldsmiths, University of London. He is a former Royal Holloway Emerging Writer Fellow, a...
Anthony Lusardi
no more chemo . . . lying in the snow to make a new angel * ambiguity among white clouds and black birds * last of dusk illuminating a sludge's slime trail * lanternfly crawling up a maple in a movie poster * sunday evening contemplating past...
benjamin cusden
benjamin cusden’s first pamphlet Cut the Black Rabbit is published by Against the Grain Poetry Press. His poetry has been published in the UK ; Canada ; the USA ; Brazil and shortlisted for the Bridport Prize & Live Canon’s...
Alison Lock
Melting Iceberg It’s no good looking at a shooting star with a fly trapped in your eye. You hear the yawn above the skin tide mewling and popping like a calved whale while you spell out the words: mastodon, sabre-toothed tiger, giant bear. But...
Sarah Doyle
Sunstroke I knew a man with suns for eyes, he blazed with sex and golden lies, a burning shitstorm in disguise. How slowly do the seasons turn. The solar flares of hot desire cannot cleanse a cheating liar. The glaring fact: you play with fire,...