By Paisley Rekdal
You’d never call the branches
arms, though in certain
lights don’t pine and man
look like hands
conjoined…
arms, though in certain
lights don’t pine and man
look like hands
conjoined…
Explore Poems: Romantic Love
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- By Countee CullenCome, let us plant our love as farmers plant
A seed, and you shall water it with tears,
And I shall … - By Countee CullenWhat if you come
Again and swell
The throat of some
Mute bird;
How shall I tell?
How shall I know
That it … - By Shereen AkhtarIn our first house-let in London, she drew on the tablecloth to create
a calligraphic feast. Our friends… - By Carole Boston WeatherfordIt was written in the stars:
A child is born.
From that moment on,
I only had eyes for you.
What a … - By Fatimah AsgharMy teacher says of their cat, now gone
missing. In his absence, everything is still.
The small, silvered… - By T.S. Leonardand it ends, of course, in fabulous heartbreak, like anything—
it’s not an if, but when—so the trick … - By Hannah BambachI feel like my mother when I am in love.
I think it is the strawberries I grow on my windowsill
to have… - By Olive FranklinLoved you since I was little, on the playground break-time
-brawled with you and your mismatched cuffs… - By SapphoHe seems to me equal to gods that man
whoever he is who opposite you
sits and listens close
to your … - By Ada LimónSometimes, I think you get the worst
of me. The much-loved loose forest-green
sweatpants, the long bra… - By William Butler YeatsI
I sought a theme and sought for it in vain,
I sought it daily for six weeks or so.
Maybe at last … - By Li-Young LeeWrist,
neck,
shoulder,
waist,
you turn.
And I turn with you.
Glance,
grasp,
blush,
breath,
you turn.
And I turn… - By Rosabetty MuñozAquí confluimos hacia la única estrella.
Volquémonos amado mío,
dejemos caer los remos
hasta donde la noche… - By Rosabetty MuñozHere we converge toward the only star.
Let’s fall in, love of mine,
let’s drop our oars
down to where night… - By Julian GewirtzMy new country says drinks are cheap and I know what he wants.
Bartender folds her forefinger nine ninety… - By Ada LimónI pass the feeder and yell, Grackle party! And then an hour later I yell, Mourning dove afterparty! …
- By Tilsa OttaTo voice something that doesn’t end in a smile is odd. The spirit circles the body, doctors can’t see…
- By Tilsa OttaPronunciar algo que no termine en una sonrisa es extraño. El alma circula por el cuerpo,los doctores…
- By Tilsa OttaSince everything turns
I can always talk about myself
and you’ll know I'll be speaking of you
Always
we …