By Weiji Wang 王唯冀 / Poetry /         Sophie had a daughter, who died an infant. She lived—how could she not—and gave another birth. A son. The son grew out of infancy. He lived. Sophia thought her daughter should live: how could she not / think how could she not / live how could the son / go on to live and live / the way men would live how could he not / live the way she / herself lived / the way her daughter / was supposed to live if he was going to She put him in a dress an

at the Nursing Home, Lock Ward By Eric Machan Howd / Poetry /         she begged me not to leave her moments after we first met as if I’d abandon her like all the others still in her life that won’t do  she cried though I told her my backyard is full of wild forget-me-nots and I’ve never had the heart to mow them over for sod their small blue stars hold every story I tell them

By Carole Greenfield / Poetry /         You're right , you said.  We ought to milk it for all it's worth. There are so many things about me you have yet to unearth but you are in that place where you aver nothing I can do  or say will put you off, so I'll take you at your word,  take you as you are, make a wish on every evening star,  try not worry about how long it will last, when the milk  will expire, when the glow will pass as I watch the winter moon  beyond my study glas

By Tan Jia Yan / Poetry /         Last Friday I found maggots in my dinner. Slimy, dense things reminding me of my own mortality. The cashier at the grocer was an old man with the kind of almond eyes that make you feel translucent. Brainless too. Like a maggot. Stupid, isn't it, to think $3 would always get you something good. To think myself infallible. I thought about vomit. Sweaty strands of hair pulled back. Cold air hitting my neck like a warning. The maggots were everyw

By Wally Swist / Poetry /         I enter the ward and see you at the end of the long hallway sitting among others in their wheelchairs. When I reach you, I place my forehead against yours, and hear you whisper, “There are reflections everywhere.” After I move you to a quieter corner, I read Rilke to you and you respond to the poem about stars. I comb your long hair back so I can put on one of the colored headbands I brought. Today is dark grey, to harmonize with your blue pl

By Mary Hawley / Poetry /         This is how we begin: highway signs  in two languages, our bags thrown  into the back seat. Miles of...

By Kathy Jiang / Poetry /         光輝歲月 after Beyond The morning Wong Kai Kui died,  my father read the newspaper, phoned my mother from...

By Mark Wyatt / Poetry /         --

By Heather Gluck / Second Place, 2025 Plentitudes Prize in Poetry /

By Em Palughi / First Place, 2025 Plentitudes Prize in Poetry /

By Stevie Chedid / Third Place, 2025 Plentitudes Prize in Poetry /

By Patricia Gray / Poetry /   In Ethiopia we have seen many eclipses.  We just heat glass until it is smoked and look through it at...

By Crystal Rivera / Poetry /   What bloomed from grief             came instinct,                                     came wrath. The...

By Xi Chen / Poetry /   There is nothing about John Ashbery’s racist poem sadder than the poem trying to cancel it by the student who...

By Robin Greene / Poetry /   Driving our ‘55 Chevy, my mom sings Sinatra while I sit beside to her, peering at Cunningham Park   as...

* A stone or wooden seal to sign one's name, used in Korea since the 2nd century B.C. By Nik Chang Hoon 임창훈 / Poetry /

By Cortney Esco / Poetry /   We’re out of eggs, and while I've got you, I'm sorry about that time I made you cry in the kitchen....

By James Lilliefors / Poetry / I take my days black now, no cream, as we used to take our nights neat, no ice. Unshaken. Sight...

By Kimberly Ramos / Poetry / because it’s Boston Christmas, the weekend in August when the last undergrads leave in mass exodus,  ...

By Sara Femenella / Poetry /   In an Uber through the valley of the blackest Birds, my mouth tastes like someone else’s   ...

By Jillian Stacia / Poetry / 1996, sleepovers at my grandmother’s house. My own room, a quilted bedspread. It was there I discovered the...