Today’s choice

Previous poems

Genna Gardini

by | Sep 27, 2026 | ,

 

 

 

When we die, do we

 

go back, small cell, atom
slit by light. It takes up 
space, an ocean, a planet, a 
god. Too large to understand 
the scale, although we accept
the concept. Constellations,

tongues of vibration. Unlearnable
logic between us. Our sameness, our 
strangeness, lows deep and seismic.
A language translated. Thin whistle. 
If we could speak it, we would 
crumble. Above us, 

a black and wet sheet is washing 
forever. Clockless expanse, science 
in darkness, the moon’s clean conduction 
of time. Satellites, submarines, sink 
and climb, and can’t find what’s there, and
what’s there? Listen 

to me, carefully. One day
you’ll ask the right question,
and that’s when you’ll see it.
Look! That’s when 
I’ll tell you—
Wait—

 

Genna Gardini is a writer, theatre-maker, and educator. Her poetry has been published widely, most recently in Prairie Schooner, The Amsterdam Review, and New Contrast. You can see more about her work at www.gennagardini.com.

Jason Lovell

by | Aug 18, 2026 | ,

While children kneel at your cage in awe
edge offerings of cashew nuts, chopped fruit,
curse words into your magnificent beak,
mums settle carrier bags at tired wet feet

Elijah MacBean

by | Aug 17, 2026 | ,

      My Name is My Name Ami never let anyone call my sister Sam – it always had to be Samina. She said she’d rather be waterboarded than let her daughter be whitewashed by whites too conservative to spare the extra syllables. Ami never let anyone call...

Damen O’Brien

by | Aug 16, 2026 | ,

The coastline’s smile is sharp with blackened teeth,
seabird shelters, scarps, cutaways, broken reefs:
the bloody mouth of a boxer who can’t be dropped,
punch drunk with the brain’s purple pounding . . .