Colorado State University Center for Literary Publishing

Poetry

From “Like Nebraska”

Jul, 24 2018 | no responses

He’s told her / How a clutch of baby mice / Fell from the rafters of this room— / The highest point for miles, / Nails in the eaves melted / Flat from past lightning— / The mice still harboring / Their blushed shadow of birth.

Root

Jul, 24 2018 | no responses

God made her / his vessel. No. // God made of her / a vessel. No. // The river poured / into her as if a vessel.

Like Life

Jul, 24 2018 | no responses

In my home, / where I was born but don’t belong, a man / cut off the golden foot of the conquistador / atop his horse, a wound bleeding back / through four hundred years of breathing / beings holding history in cellular / formations…

Smell of Wet Earth like the Inside of My Hands

Jul, 24 2018 | no responses

I want the wild azalea above, to speak / one good sentence in my life worthy of / carving into a pine, one of those waiting / in an elementary school playground where / they still want the kids to have a tree so / they paved right up to the bark on that one.

Evening

May, 18 2018 | no responses

Rackin’s language is rich with wordplay, double meanings and subtle cross-references that never distract us from her pure lyricism and unflinching insights.

Losers Dream On

May, 14 2018 | no responses

The entries shift wildly from the domestic to the cosmic (and back again), so that the “gush of time” never lands far from the banality of “salted cashews.”

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