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Begin in delight, end in wisdom.

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By Nick Ripatrazone

Aimee Nezhukumatathil’s poems explore the mysteries of love.

Prose by Poets
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Harriet Blog
By Eleni Sikelianos

As a child I belonged, absolutely, to everything. To color, to sound, to warmth, to my mother and the smell of her long purple dress with small crescent yellow moons, to the leaves swirling against the blue sky overhead, to the sharp, clean smell of eucalyptus pods crushed underfoot in the soft mattresses of understory leaves, to the tiny black ants crawling up my leg, to the sunlight filtering gauzily through the window, to the spiced apple-flavored yogurt I was allowed on my birthday, and to the dark cool recesses of rooms entered from blinding California light. 

  • By Eleni Sikelianos

    I want to start here with a couple of sentences I just wrote for another publication: "When I was a young poet I had...

  • By Marie Buck

    Right now, a Saturday morning, I’m listening to the Pauline Anna Strom compilation Trans-millenia Music, which is ethereal and weird and intense, while the...

  • By Marie Buck

    Last year I had a strange set of experiences wherein three different, new-to-me people I brought home on separate occasions each started ruminating aloud,...

  • By Marie Buck

    My first poetry professor, in undergrad, used to talk a lot about “the lyric moment” in a poem. I’m not sure if this is...

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    Aimee Nezhukumatathil’s poems explore the mysteries of love.

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