POETRY: “Lotería” by Philip Kobylarz
At the gate, bottles with cut lips. Crypts of grass cuttings. Moth wings. Stationary […]
Read More POETRY: “Lotería” by Philip KobylarzUChicago's Oldest Literary Magazine
At the gate, bottles with cut lips. Crypts of grass cuttings. Moth wings. Stationary […]
Read More POETRY: “Lotería” by Philip KobylarzI thought I heard some tough young redwoods
trying to get the ancients’ attention
but the elder trees are not interested in prattle, […]
I’d like to know the
Funny thing in your ribs. […]
I can tell you about the student learning
by holding a bag of beans in her palm
in order to feel the weight of the notes […]
At first my eyes said
a kite hovering a hundred feet above
but there was no thread attached,
no child anchored in sand, arms outstretched,
countering the coastal gale. […]
Deities sat perched on temple parapets,
concrete birds gleaming in the Georgia sun. […]
I apologize for not reading the stack of books
you’ve sent me,
those wet stories of a West Virginia childhood
with nighttime drives around cliffs […]
we neighborhood kids flooded the sidewalk
waiting for the ice cream truck to sing its tunes.
Jelly sandals melted into the concrete while jean skorts
and tank tops colored the bleakness of the apartment block. […]
We finally talk, palm tree humid balm doesn’t
wilt the rules. This rehab center is strict.
The bottle of Jameson shattered into fine green needles and sprayed across the Connellys’ white kitchen floor. Conversations went so quiet that Thomas’s whispered “shit” could be heard across the room. […]
Read More Prose: “Deidre” by Heather Rutherford