“Apology” by Kimberly Kruge (poetry, ’15)

A poem by Kimberly Kruge (poetry, ’15) appears in Poetry Northwest:

Apology

Sometimes I forget where I am.

I go as far as the patio and hear
three dogs wailing into the night.
Dogs that still have ardor in them. I see
shadows that fold into the honey of dirt
and its fruits being molded into shapes.
The silver tooth of some sister somewhere.
Someone, somewhere, not dying.

A town on the horizon lights

. . . continue reading here.

“from ‘Articulation'” by Kimberly Kruge (poetry, ’15)

Work from Kimberly Kruge (poetry, ’15) appears in Witness:

from “ARTICULATION”

A Michoacán pine loosens a spirant into the night, and deeper, the collective forest modulates a fricative. Deeper yet, the forest on fire. Silently. Suddenly: I hate everything I’ve ever written. Even the alright utterance. The forest, on the other hand, really knows how to put an observation between its teeth and let it speak for itself: order in not disrupting the order.

*

In June, advances. The rain. The frog mates. The velvet spider emerges. June: the whip snake, the reproduction of the winged ant.

. . . continue reading here.

“Like the Skins of Great Beasts” by Eric Rampson (fiction, ’16)

A story by Eric Rampson (fiction, ’16) appears in Penultimate Peanut Magazine (keep scrolling down for the story):

Like the Skins of Great Beasts

I hunt them. I go to where they are and I wait for them. I glimpse them. A rustling, they move through the periphery. They glide and shift. I never see them in full, only flashes and hints, suggestions, and a certain dread.

I hunt them inelegantly. There is no smooth take-down. There is no whisper-soft kill. There is blunt force trauma. There is blood and noise. There is wrestling with jaws, claws, and all manner of horns, spikes, razor-sharp plates. … continue reading here.

Three Poems by Angela Narciso Torres (poetry, ’09)

Three poems by Angela Narciso Torres (poetry, 09) appears in Jet Fuel Review:

Confessions of a Transplant

My first year living in America
the scent of frying garlic
sent me weeping. My eyes

swept the somber avenues
starving for color. I devoured
the aquamarine of broken glass,

a wire festooned with yellow shoes,
the sudden shower of rose
on a sidewalk. The memory

… continue reading this poem and others here.