Summer Communion --for my father, 1932-2013 My father loved tomatoes that he called old-timey. He meant not sweet but tart…
Say Goodbye, Catullus, to the Shores of Asia Minor * Peregrinator, passing through small towns, passing through solitude, what will…
Thick, Slick, Blackfly Physic Like Robin Hood who for disguise dyed face and hair with walnut juice before shooting in…
Barn Swallows I pause at the end of the corn row, back and arms weary from hacking at the morning…
Artist Statement: Alchemy Doesn’t Begin with Gold: Toward a Subjective Regionalism I consider my creative work a practice, which has…
Stacy Boe Miller, the current poet laureate of Moscow, Idaho, is a poet, essayist, and editor originally from a small…
sucking into themselves like I shied inward when asked, How is your father? like my father’s shoulders collapsed toward his ribs.…
Dear Readers, This issue provides a testimony to the imagination and diversity of voices within our poetry community. I came…