By ire’ne lara silva
we are taught the beauty of the rose
the serenity of the soft and the still
the austerity of silver stars…
the serenity of the soft and the still
the austerity of silver stars…
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- By Angelina SáenzThere is a framed photograph of my grandmother
She is a young woman, sitting on a horse, vestida de china… - By Angelina SáenzI am a feminist who loves my sport
and the machismo in charrería often gets to me
To be clear
I am not … - By Angelina SáenzBrother charro
do you realize
that it is because of escaramuza
that you have an audience?
Our performances… - By ire’ne lara silvathey announce us Valentina Covarrubias montada en Viento
my girl does not cower does not wave or smile… - By Angelina SáenzNo
I don’t dance horses
I am not a mariachi
I am not a baile folklorico dancer
I am not the half-time show… - By R. L. SwihartThe migration continues. Continuous. Sporadic.
With mathematical complexity, wind
over sand
*
Ropes … - By Peter O’LearyBlood-gushered mountainside a brass parapegma of noon
glares behind: gore of hides. Beasts all slain.… - By Yesenia Montilla& I immediately think of Cheryl, her Malik, his beloved
obsession with the team’s orange & blue, a sunset… - By Holly Mitchell1.
After the beginning of the gallop, there are counts when the horse is in the air, her
legs withdrawn… - By John TickhillIn springtime, chief of all seasons,
in May when new joys rise and flourish,
the sun is lord and messenger… - By Tomás Q. MorínIn this life, there are stars
and there are stunt doubles.
Before I became one of those fathers
obsessed… - By Tayi TibbleRinsing the sea salt out of our bikinis
with the drinking water and getting a slap
upside the head from… - By Tracy K. Smith200 cows more than 600 hilly acres
property would have been even larger
had J not sold 66 acres to … - By C. D. WrightWater
Cold as it sounds
The storm glass
Refilled and sealed
With a wine cork
The spout spilling… - By Chris AbaniA stream in a forest and a boy fishing,
heart aflame, head hush, tasting the world—
lick and pant. The… - By Jim DanielsThe strongest boy in our high school
on the edge of Detroit did not play
sports—he would’ve had to cut… - By Jaswinder BolinaHow the sweat-drenched vendors hawk
Old Styles to the drunken disorderlies—
who are us!—in the pilsner… - By Susan BrowneI swim my laps today, slowly, slowly,
reaching my arms out & over, my fleshly oars,
the water silken… - By Arthur SzeA woman moves through a Cloud Hands position,
holding and rotating
an invisible globe—thud, shattering…