
Crouching, touching it with my fingertips, a sizzle of electric cold raced through my nervous system. It was, I realized, deadalive.

Crouching, touching it with my fingertips, a sizzle of electric cold raced through my nervous system. It was, I realized, deadalive.

Prose from Poetry Magazine
On Heartbreak: The Beautiful Half of a Golden Hurt
I’ve heard it said that if poets are not writing about death, they’re not writing about anything; the same could be said for love.
That’s My Heart Right There

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the universe
blacker and more beautiful than
I imagined.
the universe
blacker and more beautiful than
I imagined.
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Featured Poets

Poet, writer, and educator Tanaya Winder is an enrolled member of the Duckwater Shoshone Tribe and has ancestors from the Southern Ute, Pyramid Lake Paiute, Navajo, and Black tribes. She grew up on the Southern Ute reservation in Ignacio, Colorado, and earned her BA at Stanford and an MFA from the University of New Mexico. Winder’s collections of poetry include Words Like Love (2015) and Why Storms are Named After People and... Read More
Being
Prose from Poetry Magazine
Words as Seeds
Love Lessons in a Time of Settler Colonialism

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