THE GIRL FROM IPANEMA
Walked up to me all the way
from Brazil to serenade my childhood,
all day it was João Gilberto and bossa nova,
the samba sang only to me, no one else.
Yet, a voice like my mother’s began to ...
Two Poems by Elizabeth Powell
LAR Online, Poetry
Ruth
1935—Amelia Earhart was the first
to fly solo from Honolulu to California.
The Dust Bowl rolled out record heat.
Where at 16 could you have flown or blown?
Surely not far from the ...
Two Poems by Michael Montlack
LAR Online, Poetry
“But I still have to face the hours, don’t I?
I mean, the hours after the party, and the hours
after that...”
–Michael Cunningham, The Hours
Hours in which the lace falls away
to reveal an ordinary ...
Domesticity by Lorcán Black
LAR Online, Poetry
“The great bulk of novel readers are females; and to them such impressions (as are conveyed through fiction) are peculiarly mischievous: for, first, they are naturally more sensitive, more impressionable, than the other ...
Notice of Risks by Corinna McClanahan Schroeder
LAR Online, Poetry
My other car is a felled tree / sit
down: My other car is the American experiment, scabbed over
in war paint, one leg almost completely severed above the knee,
my other car is a ratchet hatchet and a wet piece of ...
Bumper Sticker by Marc McKee
LAR Online, Poetry
It’s 1:11 a.m.
and O Lord that bird
singing since 11 o’clock
that midnight bird
with musical complaint
won’t shut up
for us to sleep
O Lord that bird
is sick in love
not sick with love
I think his ...
Nightsong by Dan Murphy
LAR Online, Poetry
We finish the day the way water moves
to make room for the body,
one quick motion, then waves
...
On Inadequacy by Stephanie McCarley Dugger
LAR Online, Poetry
I Pump Milk like a Boss
I pump milk on the side of the road where the grass is biblical green
as if first cousin to the cow, her pink and swollen tits immaculate
as the plumbing of a church organ sending ...
Two Poems by Kendra DeColo
LAR Online, Poetry
37 weeks, 1 day
If the body goes rogue, turns against itself. If between
breaths, all I hear is the crunch of body against brick. If I am
both body and brick. If I am broken and not remade. If this
breath, stoppered ...
from “Mothersalt: A Lyric” by Mia Ayumi Malhotra
LAR Online, Poetry
