I will wait, said wood, and it did.
Ten years, a hundred, a thousand, a million—
It did not matter. Time was not its measure,
Not its keeper, nor its master.
Wood was trees in those first days.
And when wood sang, it was leaves,
|2018||You’re really faithful to your abusers, aren’t you?||Samiya Bashir|
|2018||from I.C.E. AGE||David Buuck|
|2018||Single Lines Looking Forward. or One Monostich Past 45||francine j. harris|
|2018||Firing Squad||Ilya Kaminsky|
|2018||Ode to the Happy Negro Hugging the Flag in Robert Colescott’s “George Washington Carver Crossing the Delaware”||Anaïs Duplan|
|1964||Old Arrivals||Galway Kinnell|
|2018||No use to say||Wendy Chen|
|2017||The Watergate||Rodney Jones|