What about how a
day is always
the newlyweds couldn’t
to do next. In
toward or away
from every rally,
else to love and
Cisewski's second book, Ghost
Fargo, was selected by Franz
Wright for the Nightboat Poetry Prize and released in 2010. She is also the
author of Upon Arrival (Black Ocean) and three chapbooks: How Birds Work, Or Else What Asked the Flame w/Mathias Svalina, and Two Museums. Poems of hers
have most recently appeared in failbetter;
Poetry City, USA; REVOLUTIONesque; and BOMBlog. She lives in Minneapolis.
Civil War Sonnet. No sex reassignment surgery sonnet.
Black sonnet. No climate change sonnet.
crossed out Unitarian Universalist sonnet.
African American sonnet. No girly sonnet.
boyish lip gloss sonnet.
crime spree sonnet. No egret sonnet.
adorable sonnet. No iron-on patch sonnet.
Crimean War memorabilia sonnet.
consignment store sonnet.
global diamond store sonnet.
Into the House of Florida
are my ounce, my octagon, my omen, ornate
as palm leaf shadow curing the
nuclear family’s backyard swimming pool.
own the world, do they not? You are my
zero sum game,
my tribe, sailboat catching its cloth lip
on the torn horizon.
are my minus sign, my time line, mathematic as water stored
in a cube of antimatter. You open the
and poof—the genie, wearing a powdered wig,
You weigh organism. You weigh organ. You
climb into an oasis and come out as-is.
As is always.
You dream of Nazi-werewolves. I don’t
listen. You drive to Orlando.
To Tampa. It is night. The bats’ sonar systems
pulsate below our ozone, our little
Sandra Simonds is the author of three books of
poetry: Warsaw Bikini (Bloof
Books, 2009), Mother Was a
Tragic Girl (Cleveland State
University Press, 2012), and a book of sonnets tentatively called House of Ions (Bloof Books, forthcoming, 2014). She
is assistant professor of English and Humanities at Thomas University in
Thomasville, Georgia. You can visit her at Sandrasimonds.com.
might be a poet’s trick,
but the rose
bushes across the street,
green now in the
shade of a green ash
by overgrown crossvine,
the rose bushes
hanging partly out
gravelly roadside, flowerless,
don’t remind me
of us, or you, or how
empowered me with your anger,
nor do they
remind me of myself, now,
depleted in your
aside from the
occasional full breeze
them, and though their leaves
seem at peace
with who they are.
No, we were more
like flame azaleas
growing wild in
a highway ditch,
blood root, foam flower,
solomon’s seal, blazing star
mown down by
stalks and bright
petals scattered among
fescue, fallen among clumps
that grow in marshier
places, and that
is not to say our love
but that it was maybe too
mistaken for weeds, viable only
and children who pick
them into bouquets,
place them on
domestic coffee tables
as if they had
value other than the value
immediately apparent, maybe
for a day, a poet’s trick.
Aaron Belz is
a poet and essayist who has published across a wide range of venues, from Wired
to Christian History to Boston Review. He currently serves as a contributing
editor for Capital Commentary, the weekly current-affairs publication of the
Center for Public Justice in Washington, D.C., and writes regularly for The St.
Louis Post-Dispatch, Books & Culture, and other periodicals. He has
published two books of poetry, TheBird Hoverer (2007) and Lovely,Raspberry (2010); a third, Glitter Bomb,
is forthcoming from Persea Books.
AND GOD SAID,
turn the sky into water.
be drowned. So they cried
in the sky, needed a way
on the ocean he could
his wide blue reflection.
and build me some fields.
the mountains. The animal
Matt Rasmussen’s poetry has been published in Gulf Coast, Cimarron
Review, H_NGM_N, New York Quarterly, Paper Darts, and
at Poets.org. He’s received awards, grants, and residencies from
The Bush Foundation, The Minnesota State Arts Board, Jerome Foundation,
Intermedia Arst, The Anderson Center in Red Wing, MN, and The Corporation of
Yaddo. He is a 2012 McKnight Artist Fellow, a former Peace Corps Volunteer, and
teaches at Gustavus Adolphus College. His first book, Black Aperture,
won the 2012 Walt Whitman Award and will be published in 2013 by LSU Press.
He’s a founding editor of Birds, LLC, a small, independent poetry
NOW THAT I CAN
on the floor
of the subway
when she drops
was going to
take us higher
Jibade-Khalil Huffman is the author of two books of poems, 19
Names For Our Band Fence, 2008) and James Brown is Dead (Future
Plan and Program, 2011). His art and writing projects, spanning
photography, video, performance and poetry, have been exhibited and performed
at MoMA/PS1, Mt. Tremper Arts and Southern Exposure, among others. He was recently a Workspace
Artist-in-Residence with the Lower Manhattan Cultural Council in New York.
Educated at Bard College and Brown University, he lives and works in Los
Angeles where he is an MFA candidate in studio art at the University of