Poetry Magazine
FROM THE CURRENT ISSUE OF
Poetry Magazine
After tonight, what’s left of you is you moving into my
dream
After tonight, what’s left of you is you moving into my
dream
Poem
By Sarah Ghazal Ali
Poem
By Martha Silano
Poem
By Paul Tran
Once I learned I could have the last word
I couldn’t stop having
I couldn’t stop having
it.
Once I learned I could have the last word
I couldn’t stop having
I couldn’t stop having
it.
Poem
By Bhion Achimba
Poem
By Maxine Hong Kingston
Translated By Chun Yu
Poem
By Shara McCallum
Diné bizaad is a language of patience and cunning. It is quiet, in the distance, like a coming
storm.
Diné bizaad is a language of patience and cunning. It is quiet, in the distance, like a coming
storm.
Article
By Kimberly Blaeser
Poem
By Sherwin Bitsui
Poem
By Nia Francisco
The clearest memory I have of my friend: his body perched like a sparrow atop the tallest
tree.
The clearest memory I have of my friend: his body perched like a sparrow atop the tallest
tree.
Poem
By Jesse Holth
Poem
By Miguel A. Vega
Poem
By Allison Swenson
Recent Features from Poetry
Prose from Poetry Magazine
By Chase BerggrunIt seemed to me a kind of magic to take a made thing and make it almost unrecognizably new.
Prose from Poetry Magazine
By Chase BerggrunAllow yourself to be nervous. Allow yourself to doubt the work you’re doing even as you’re doing it.
Prose from Poetry Magazine
By Shangyang FangTo translate an ancient language—one that feels estranged, unfamiliar, and even a bit sentimental—into English has always been a challenge.
From the Poetry Magazine Archive
- PoemBy Jaswinder BolinaWe came upon a line of English
eating dog, we thought, on plump bread
steamed and slathered with a drab yellow
chutney from a cart in the Kew Gardens.
Villains, they looked to us, offending
nature, but we asked the dog-wallah
for one apiece—me, your Gian... - PoemBy Ashlee Hazethe pastor says
we are having church
and I begin to wonder what it means to
possess a thing you cannot touch
I caught the holy ghost once
after chasing him in the back pews
held onto him long enough to convince my mother of salvation
then... - PoemBy No‘u Revillayour black inscriptions cite a kino lau,
whose feathered wingspan, nighttime eyes & pun-
ishing beak comprise mo‘okū‘auhau.
w/my oiled hands, I greet her, w/hun-
gering for mo‘opuna. “mai,” she says,
reciting from your thigh. “mai, mai e ‘ai.”
I have traveled from Maui a lizard,...
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History
Poetry was founded in Chicago by Harriet Monroe in 1912.
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