Adelle Steals the Key ToBy Kristina Marie Darling
I carried our wedding china out to the dock, threw every goblet into the ocean.
My Father Gave the NeighborsBy Erez Bitton, translated from the Hebrew by Tsipi Keller
my mother / unraveled both her eyes to the ravens
Some Otherside, Some SubterraneanBy Nick Flynn
Our guest poetry editor selects poems that sit on “the knife edge between what we call the everyday and what we call the night.”
AdriftBy Garret Burrell, guest-edited by Nick Flynn
Half of this / is an illusion. See here you / there is no place that does not from.
Late StyleBy Graham Foust, guest-edited by Nick Flynn
before she announced her arrival, she devoured it.
Guidebooks for the DeadBy Cynthia Cruz, guest-edited by Nick Flynn
I could feel something bright / As it left the body.
Discrepancies Regarding My Mother’s DepartureBy Rachel Eliza Griffiths, guest-edited by Nick Flynn
It’s your turn, it’s always your turn, / the night says.
House-Sitting With Approaching FireBy Idra Novey
Dear friends / the ash-fall is thickening here
The UnfinishedBy D. Nurkse
When we returned by a pinprick in darkness / we found ourselves in childhood
DNABy Mazen Maarouf, translated from the Arabic by Kareem James Abu-Zeid and Nathalie Handal
you’re nothing, / absolutely nothing, / but a Palestinian.
Ground RulesBy Simeon Berry
Here, we always sell / the negatives for free.
Gate 134By Peter Cooley
What unnameable would throw this on the floor, / noon refracted through blue windows
You Blast Off, I’ll DriveBy Alison Smith
We ferried into America on the pitch of the same folksong.
Temporary PeopleBy Abigail Carl-Klassen
Gin means you start down south and diesel / dye your stripper, that International Harvester, / through barbed wire
ThemsBy Tommy Pico
I say “and them” and mean / how in “the sticks” where I lived, the reservation, the mail / boxes were like maypoles at the end of the Earth
Refugee (Baghdad 2003)By Mia Leonin
Daughter, your mother’s prayer teeth would sharpen / and shred your opaque sack of sleep.
TongariroBy Milorad Pejić, translated from the Bosnian by Omer Hadžiselimović
We are resting from our courage.
Night VisionBy Benjamin Landry
Our task was to set our sight / on the sightless part
Courtyard of the Most Embarrassing GodBy Elizabeth Metzger
The pelt, dead and bristling, / might guard me from death, / a city wet with the rain of better places.
PrometheusBy Brandon Courtney
Fever wasn’t the only thing to break / in Cambodia
Bruno Sits on a Washing MachineBy Erica Ehrenberg
the prairies are overrun with pioneer wives out of time / carrying rifles
This Is How You BegBy Anna Rose Welch
It should feel like you’ve rebuilt man / from woman’s most essential parts.
ShipwreckedBy Tatiana Oroño, translated from the Spanish by Jesse Lee Kercheval
he was hoisted on the deck with his inheritance / of bones lowered in the berth
CameramanBy Andrew Nance
Good evening Secretary of the Interior Brain, glowing / wick of my infomercial light
I OBSERVED the acidic moistureBy Antonio Gamoneda, translated from the Spanish by Donald Wellman
the vertebrae went down and already / I saw no more than eternity and coldness
Act TwoBy Clay Matthews
Only a flood could drown out / the light he still held inside.
You Can’t Tell the TruthBy Rebecca Gayle Howell
We talk about leaving here as if / it’s walking out a door.
Wherever the nurse touches youBy Simon Perchik
the way your blood here to there / drifts off course
NortherlyBy Sarah Crossland
There is no word for emergency after the body / wilts.
PowerBy JoAnna Novak
So Nurse, take mine, girl tabs and man cuticles, two fingers // to the wrist.