Identified by Unique Manicure Author’s Note: this poem was written in response to this image—created by Oana Maria Cajal—which is both about the war in Ukraine and part of a collaboration project titled “Shattered.”
We met under the octopus, tentacles suspended over us,gathering us in. I will return here over and overafter the war has separated us, the basementhas separated us, the dead dog in the streethas separated us.
Clocks will still mark time. Only speechesby the president under siege will sound true. Bombedcities that refuse to fall will be decimated. Spring will stallas if waiting for war to end before it can arrive.Monuments
It’s everywhere today; the wildfire of helicopter blades, what you hearwhen the furnace kicks on, a beggingvoice and an airstrike of unholy smiles.But it’s not something you could tell your sisteras she accidentally pours raspberry
for Dan Ryan After we spoke of the dead at Giờ Linh and Cồn Thiên, I thought of the bird that came to nest ina dead tree; the deep rhythm, melody as she built it
―with Uche Ezenwa-Ohaeto Something sits on my heart like night sits on day:A verdant lush too heavy to pass through my throat.In one night, rivers redden where bone-rubble, limbs float.Here, mother is a name for
Now that you have decided to stayaway, I have given up finding the quietgestures that lie behind us. What matterscannot just be found in corners of what wasonce your home. I have muted your imprintin
silent under her gray-swept wingsthe wrinkled sands slide. over qalats, wadis,waters, all the brown earth she slips, waiting to go kinetic. in her belly the missile lies primed, dreaming its dream of falling death. through
Scene of Achilles tending to Patroclus We are so proud and excited to publish WIDOWS, a new long poem by Tom Sleigh, which appears in full for the first time here at Consequence Forum.
In the years and months preceding the coronavirus pandemic, David Ferry could often be heard reading from his translation of Virgil’s Aeneid to audiences in and around Boston. Ferry always gave special attention to lines
—after a photo of mannequins awaiting the 1953 atomic bomb test blast If it weren’t for the monochrome, we would know if her hair is white or blonde. We’re left to speculate. She could
To create a battlefield, draw a line. then send renewable boys into stitch it down. Band, tourniquet:which half is supposed to die? Blood falling in, the earthonly more dark. Then green, green –as belt, ribbon,
