Skip to content
Menu

Advent, First Frost

By Anya Silver Poetry

Something has descended like feathered prophecy. Someone has offered the world a bowl of frozen tears, has traced the veins and edges of leaves with furred ink. The grass is stiff as the strings of a lute. And, day by day, the tiny windows crack their cardboard frames seizing the frail light. The sun, moving…

Read More

Russian Bell

By Anya Silver Poetry

I’d like to scale the cord in the vibrating dark, to find the source of all sound, to translate the frequencies. The way, as a child, I could hang onto a knot of rope and kick myself back from a wall into the arc and blur of summer air—that’s the prayer I want. To open…

Read More

Note to My Sister from Notre Dame

By Fleda Brown Poetry

It didn’t help that the boys are Jewish, and the stone angels only clumsy halfway- hoverers, not as smart as electrons, quarks, or strings that turn like dazed rubber bands in a breeze. It didn’t help that we’d walked all over Paris first. Still, the rose window entered them: a complication, a shattering of light.…

Read More

Longing

By Christopher Howell Poetry

In fields where the late light lingers I can just see the last wild roses spangling the vetch and Johnson grass. Is someone walking there, bending to take in their lightest breath? Is it a girl in a blue-white dress? Even now the moon is rising like a blade above the hills. Sharp cries of…

Read More

Pears, Unstolen

By Betsy Sholl Poetry

I was stopped on the sidewalk by pears glowing on their tree like antique ornaments with flaking paint, a green metallic shimmer, hinting at yellow, mottled with a few flecks of red. As light flickered over them, they seemed to flutter like candles in the leaves. But no—they were pears, and probably hard, I told…

Read More

Of the Body Taken In

By K.A. Hays Poetry

Now the lone swan dips groundward and her wings beat more slowly, the scrape of oak limbs wicking the air beneath her breast, the arms of oaks open and out, a narrow hall between their reaching (this the route through which the trees’ separateness wavers and grows tense). She is a clutter of feather, vision,…

Read More

Happiness

By Katherine Soniat Poetry

That evening she painted her nails metallic rose, placed the opal on her finger, and walked down the block to a party in the moss garden. A friend held her hand, getting involved with the milky luminescence of the ring. Before long he was telling her how his uncle loved to float down the river…

Read More

Some Saint

By Anne Pierson Wiese Poetry

There’s a church where I sit on my lunch hour when the silence within me cries out for its counterbalance without—the only sounds the clinks and clanks of old radiators working in winter and birds nesting up in the buttresses in spring, the mediated mumble of traffic and the echoing feet of those who come…

Read More

This Orange That

By Robert Grunst Poetry

Santa Cruz Island A white cotton shirt like my wife’s Loose over her Shoulders I’m thinking just Brushing Her breasts But Provençal or Basque this Woman or Italian perhaps Not blonde not Dutch but her skin like Skin like the peel Of skin next the bulb of a tulip The scent Of her the scent…

Read More

At Chinese Harbor

By Robert Grunst Poetry

Santa Cruz Island First water and salt scud tailing twenty yards off A receding tide. Or stones first, the tide’s Measure and break. Or the word seal, for instance, This dead one’s skin slicker brined hard And cracked. Cell. Follicle. Division And increase. Wind first. Or absence. First, We’re not sure. Then upright walking. Another…

Read More

Welcome to Image. 

We curate content just for you. Subscribe to our weekly newsletter ImageUpdate for free.


Pin It on Pinterest