Seeing California’s Super Bloom from Space
Mar, 11 2019 | no responses
Without future, I sharpen, I flint. // Flushed as I am with fever, I’ve dismantled / my cloud of fright, whispers spent // on nights under the wrong moon.
Poetry
Mar, 11 2019 | no responses
Today, I do not think about death, not the brittle / skulls of children or the metal in their blood / that could pass for bullets.
Mar, 11 2019 | no responses
Then something changes. Fire licks along the interstate’s / plunging edge, Styrofoam plates of rice and sucked bones / are left out for yard dogs.
Mar, 11 2019 | no responses
My father put the bat in a glass jar, after, / though I’m not sure that’s the whole story. / I never saw and can’t be certain.
Feb, 05 2019 | no responses
One of the great pleasures of reading across Keelan’s body of work is seeing how these concerns and images evolve over time. Even as her formal concerns change, Keelan continues to return to the literal heart, defamiliarizing it each time to give our own a jolt.
Feb, 04 2019 | no responses
We, too, have seen this kind of semidocumentary poetics before; whereas the rummaging of personal effects has led to sentimentality and self-righteousness in several recent collections, Isako Isako eschews both easy nostalgia and sensationalized, one-dimensional politicking.