Today’s choice

Previous poems

Marissa Glover

 

 

What Might Have Been

There is a small white house
high on a green hill just south
of Scotland, an office bright
with books and a window
overlooking Magdalene,
and somewhere on a dirt road
between endless pastures
of strong red fescue, is a man
on a motorcycle—drenched
in the day’s sweat like a soldier
returning from battle, coming
home to me.

 

 

 

Marissa Glover lives in Florida, where she’s swatting bugs and dodging storms. Her poetry collections, Let Go of the Hands You Hold (2021) and Box Office Gospel (2023), are published by Mercer University Press.

Elly Katz

When naked with myself, I feel where a right elbow isn’t, then is. I let my left palm guide me through the exhibition of my body.

Sarp Sozdinler

As a kid, Nehisi used to sleep in a treehouse. He could curl right into it from his bedroom window. He would have a hard time falling asleep every time his parents got loud or physical.