May 05, 2016

A poem from the Spring 2016 issue.

Two wasps copulate over your back porch—
their wings grate the air above the ochre splotch

where a hawk took down a pigeon last winter
not long after your move into the yellow house

December 06, 2016

I live five miles from where the Hawk’s Nest Tunnel tragedy unfolded, along the New River Gorge in Fayette County. Hawk’s Nest is an extreme in a class of extremes—the disaster where truly nothing seemed to survive, even in memory—and I have made a home in its catacombs. The historical record is disgracefully neglectful of the event, and only a handful of the workers’ names were ever made known. What’s more, any understanding of Hawk’s Nest involves the discomfort of the acute race divide in West Virginia, seldom acknowledged or discussed. Indeed, race is still downplayed in official accounts. Disaster binds our people, maybe. But what if you’re one of those deemed unworthy of memory?

April 04, 2016
Victor Campbell carries a chunk of Tennessee Williams’s soul around New Orleans every day in a black leather briefcase. He keeps the rest of it in the back of his bedroom closet, in an olive-green Samsonite suitcase, the weight of half a man.
May 15, 2017

A previously unpublished poem by Margaret Walker. 

For a dozen wonderful writers:
Goodbye to all you girls and guys
who walked this weary way 
who climbed these hills
and walked these miles
this rocky wooded chase.
A dozen wonderful writers

October 08, 2018

Anne Spencer’s ecosystem of art and activism

As I read, I fell in love with Anne Spencer’s fierceness and wit. In some ways, she reminded me of my own grandmother—a voluble woman, gardener, and scrawler of notes on the back of lists. Finding Spencer’s scraps, I felt the same sort of matriarchal literary presence amid the dailiness of domestic life: glimpses of how an ambitious, literary-minded woman might manage a house.

September 03, 2019

Poetry from the Fall 2019 issue.

We knew no alchemy we knew, the way it lay,
    stood a chance, all the weight put on us pathe-
  tic, the band we’d be

March 13, 2018

Poems from the Spring 2018 issue.

One white anemone,
the year’s first flower,
saves the world.

April 19, 2017

A poem by Phillip B. Williams from our Spring 2016 issue. 

First thought: the speckled darkness 
was a storm’s arrival shocking birds
from their perches. 
March 23, 2017

A poem from our 18th Southern Music Issue: Visions of the Blues.

I’m talking about the man at 80—trickling Jheri curl ol skool
now razored down or just plain fell out to make way for sparse 
and stubbled silver, his smile an improvidence of gold and rot
March 23, 2017

A poem from the 18th Southern Music Issue: Visions of the Blues.  

 
I blush quicker than a school of blue jack mackerel
arranging itself into an orb of dazzle to avoid
 
nips and gulps from the dolphins whove been silently
trailing them, waiting for them to relax.