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If numbers are ladders & language’s an eye of a needle feelings try to thread bone through, let me be spike & rib, rime & anchor found inside a frozen droplet.
Flower Conroy, “The Largest Island in the Largest Lake on the Largest Island in the Largest Lake on the Largest Island in the Largest Lake in the World,” published in Third Point Press
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I never told you I loved you.
I find it amusing in a bitter-almond way, the elaborate prohibitions I set
around these words that still carve
a hole in me, bone-smooth, bone-dry
— Sheila Black, from “Amaryllidaceae,” published in Third Point Press
You,
who thought that robes like yours meant submission, sunk your dress like a burning barge
beneath the sea. You hide a pain below the vast and spreading surface of your palms, each crag
and crevice smooth ambrosia darkened shadow- spots or wine-stains on a wedding cloth.
— Cassie Garison, from “Paean to a Statue of Headless Athena,” published in Third Point Press
In conversation I was buried alive or dead, they tell me these are side effects; how they jigsaw my bones to picture some someone; how your skin is not your own.
Paola Ferrante, from “First Girl/Final Girl,” published in Third Point Press
My mother gave me her knife, / she has taught me that hope is vicious.
Moira J., from “Stillborn Godhead,” published in Third Point Press
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I take everything laughing & too quickly. Trying to apologize to a tin rage.
Emily O’Neill, from “Horse Year (Finally Over),” published in Third Point Press
The year memory is an ivy slithering up my body sprouting umbels of bitter fruit. Each year unwilling to surrender my mouthful of stones.
Theo Legro, “Nonsequential,” published in Third Point Press
Love finds you on a beach with dirty hair. Love finds you breathless, spluttering and uncertain, but love has kind eyes and soft hands and love leads you to his house, an impossible palace glittering with what you want.
i have a poem called “little knives” up at third point press today!
