Vermillion Fluidities: An Interview with Lee Ann Roripaugh
Conducted by Linda Russo
In April of last year, I had the pleasure of being introduced to the work and person of Lee Ann Roripaugh. We were reading our poetry as participants in “Poetry of the Plains, High Desert, and Prairie,” a panel at the AWP conference in Minneapolis. Lee was seated to my right, and I can recall an almost emerald vibrancy about her, though I know this is because she read a poem looking (in the manner of Wallace Stevens) at the Vermillion River that runs through southeast South Dakota, where she lives. (More …)
Full Moon over Utah
by Kim Barnes
I was sitting on a curb behind the AmericInn, having a smoke. They’d put me in a room on the top floor, four stories up, with a nice view of the town’s new temple, but the windows didn’t open. They never do anymore. I filled a water bottle with wine, took the elevator down. (More …)
Sex Coffee
by Desiree Cooper
You walk into the coffeehouse and pick a seat beside the thin woman whose beauty is coiled into tight vines of hair. Never seen her here before, you think as you slide into the bench beside her, careful not to get caught looking in her direction. (More …)
Collide with Me
by Jen Hirt
Since moving to a city, I have had a thing for the full moon. How it waits behind buildings like a spy. I learn the espionage of streetlights, headlights, the tease of stark beacons on planes. I mess with my camera and patrol the dark like a captain of capturing what’s splendid. Full moon photos from the high rise. From beneath the bike path’s leafy oaks. Caught between phone lines. (More …)
Courting
by Brently Johnson
Just outside the dwarfed door to the racquetball court he asks me, “Do you have protective eye gear?”
Adam, chesty and Bavarian in build, a colleague at the small university where we both teach, keeps his hair buzzed short and clean, and is in top physical shape. He sets down his bag designed specifically for the game: (More …)
March Excavated from the Hard Dirt of an Empty Lot
by Sean Thomas Dougherty
In the faint light of smoke drifting from the refinery and forsythia climbing along the chain-link fence, there is no burning gasoline can or the lost faces limping toward emergency rooms after being shot in the foot. (More …)
What We Will Not Save If When I Am Beside You
by Sean Thomas Dougherty
There are things that break and there are the things I have entered against and there are the things that no one promised. (More …)
Angrily Standing Outside in the Wind
by Brenda Hillman
—kept losing self control,
but how could one lose the self
after reading so much literary theory? (More …)
As a Sentence Leaves Its Breath
by Brenda Hillman
—on a mountain top in summer
wood splitting on a finished tree, —
ridges of the swirls in a mirrorless day,
tall ants nearby—, twin sides of alive: so pattern recalls
how to cling volute, contingent, (More …)
For the Lovers Abandoned in Sunlight
by Brenda Hillman
Some friends had broken up-;
i didn’t think they should,
but still… (The bees had also
flown away to the chrome woods— (More …)
What Doesn’t Kill You
by Rebecca Gayle Howell
I miss Slade most, but more I miss
thinking Little was as good as any,
that a body could mean what he says. (More …)
Song of the Andoumboulou: 133
by Nathaniel Mackey
Brother B took off the Itamar mask
as we crossed over, epic duress lately
contracted let go, small mercy, less than
we’d been led to expect we now
clamored for, noise, no not knowing
what sound was… Noise no doubt, (More …)
Land, Money, Women
by Rachel Morgan
Curvy, collapsed barns
decay on Rural Route 1.
Rotting mattress and car doors
roost in empty horse stalls. (More …)
Pin Feather
by Rachel Morgan
Unlike hair, the pin feather
is alive. Not an assembly line
of dead cell on dead cell, cut
or curled for beauty, (More …)