Past dark fields of winter
wheat, each hill swells and troughs
the talk between my grandmother and me. The further we travel,
the less the landscape changes, just vague
waves in the blooming dark, the pollen
of yellow farmhouse lights. (More …)
Jory Mickelson
Jory Mickelson is a queer writer whose work has appeared or is forthcoming in The Rumpus, Ninth Letter, Vinyl Poetry, The Florida Review, Superstition Review, The Collagist, The Los Angeles Review, and other journals in the United States and the UK. He is the recipient of an Academy of American Poet’s Prize and a Lambda Literary Fellow in Poetry. His most recent chapbook Slow Depth was published by Argus House Press. You can follow him at www.jorymickelson.com
North Dakota
by Jory Mickelson
All my life I’ve
been levelheaded because I grew
up knowing horizon; sky as baseline,
prairie as high-water mark.
The songs my body knows: (More …)
Nothing Held
by Jory Mickelson
What it is to run without
restraint away from
anything: the wind, a car horn,
an aspen leaf that flashes
me to flight, to bound past
the boundless field leaving (More …)