National Poetry Month 2016
The theme of teaching and learning poetry, and our emphasis on student poets, speaks directly to the action of poetry in our country and global community. Never has the education of our students been so threatened, and never has truth been more challenged than in the current political climate. The truth emerges through education and the resistance and questions of our youngest generation, and it is their lead we absolutely must follow if they are to live in a society that fosters their achievements, liberation, and justice. Truth emerges through poetry as well — poetry bears witness to what truths seem impossible to speak any other way. Its constraints limit the temptation to misconstrue, obscure, and bury.
Mothering the Sexy
Sixteen years ago, I moved from the warm bosom of my frigid family homestead in Oswego, New York, to Manhattan and produced my first off off-Broadway play. It required the kind of impenetrable naiveté and unflinching courage found in kids and crazy people. I penned...
The Turf Chick
Some said I was the female Pac, Some said I was the female Biggie, some said I was the female Rick, and some said rappers can’t mess with me --The Turf Chick, Untitled I get up every day with a new goal on my mind, the same frown and the same broken spirit from doors...
I Know Why Anne Sexton Had to Die
Before the dichotomously empathetic, accusatory, and self-assigned label “Daddy Issues” and before my cruelly whispered / screamed / graffitied high school nickname “slut” or “whore” emerged, there was a much gentler label stamped on me — “Boy Crazy.” When I was...
Intimacy and Poetry
[Greg Allendorf Two-Person Table in the Back Corner of the Coffee Shop, Next to the Fireplace Chat] I invited fellow fiction writer Liz Jacobs to cozy up to the virtual fireplace with me and chat about Greg Allendorf’s excellent collection, Fair Day in an Ancient...
Dread and Grief, Energy and Song
We invited accomplished poets Cathryn Cofell and Nicole Cooley to read Alicia Rebecca Myers’s poetry chapbook My Seaborgium and share in a discussion about it. Today, we are excited to present to you the result — a lively and insightful conversation about Myers’s...
Beats, Rhymes, and Spoken Word
In high school, I hated hip-hop. As a budding black poet, I felt like I was expected to like it by association, but I couldn’t. The songs I was exposed to only talked about sex or a new dance craze—they seemed empty, and I couldn’t connect with them. I didn’t get into...
2016 Editors’ Choice Poems: Week 2
We are delighted to present this week’s selections from the Brain Mill Press 2016 Poetry Month Contest. We received many outstanding entries, from which these pieces by Jessica Jacobs, Olajide Timilehin Abiodun, and Catherine Chen stood out. We hope you’ll enjoy them...
When the body is a cage
About Julie Brooks Barbour Julie Brooks Barbour is the author of Haunted City (Aldrich Press, 2016) and Small Chimes (Aldrich Press, 2014), as well as three chapbooks, most recently Beautifully Whole (Hermeneutic Chaos Press, 2015). She is co-editor of Border Crossing...
2016 Editors’ Choice Poems: Week 3
We are delighted to present this week’s selections from the Brain Mill Press 2016 Poetry Month Contest. We received many outstanding entries, from which these pieces by Shabnam Piryaei, Courtney Leblanc, and Sharon Brooks stood out. We hope you’ll enjoy them as much...
2016 Editors’ Choice Poems: Week 1
We are delighted to present this week’s selections from the Brain Mill Press 2016 Poetry Month Contest. We received many outstanding entries, from which these pieces by Imani Davis, Lynn Marie Houston, and Jiordan Castle stood out. We hope you’ll enjoy them as much as...
Visionary
Visionary The American Museum of Visionary Art On the side of Key Highwaya tree is hung with brokenlight: diamonds, circles, squaresof glass on wire that glitterin the January wind.We stand before it. Who would want to see a hundredof ourselves refracted....
Wrappers
Wrappers You’re twelve and in love with the boy next dooronly you don’t quite know it yet.That tingle between your legsis something you fumble for while your sister sleeps,while you are awake and dreaming.You play married, practice that first boy kissagainst your...
Then Became
Then Became for Sylvain © Cynthia Hogue, 2014. Originally published in TAB: a journal of poetry and poetics (2014). Used with permission. About Cynthia Hogue Cynthia Hogue was born in 1951 in Rock Island, Illinois. She taught in the MFA program at the...
Constructing ‘a Plausible Protagonist’
Constructing 'a Plausible Protagonist' Riding home double, atop the handlebars, a dangling legcatches spokes. Like the ticker-tape soundsof cards flapping, like the sudden violence done to childhood when you trust too much. After, I rememberhow we’d beg to skip church...
Stepmother en Filipinas, circa 1948
Stepmother en Filipinas, ca. 1948 I.Long before the clop-clopping of hoovesecho from the sun-baked road,and the calesa drops off its passengerand her groom, there will have beena thousand chores completed. The bride will arrive at her new homeand regally ascend to her...
the bull–the line–europa
About Wendy Vardaman Wendy Vardaman is the author of two collections of poetry, most recently, Reliquary of Debt (Lit Fest Press 2015). She has a PhD in English from the University of Pennsylvania, a BS in engineering from Cornell University, and recently returned to...
Dixie Highway
About Nickole Brown Nickole Brown grew up in Louisville, Kentucky, and Deerfield Beach, Florida. Her books include Fanny Says, a collection of poems published by BOA Editions in 2015; her debut, Sister, a novel-in-poems published by Red Hen Press in 2007; and an...
Lullaby
Find yourself alone in someone else’s house, nine thousand feet above your actual life, days hemmed mostly in by national forest and the wind of your own thoughts. (He says he will die young. He says he is old. He says touch, turned take.) Here, there is nothing to do...
Widow
They didn’t tell me where the funeral was so I know it’s everywhere, spilling over edges with its overwhelming hunger while I brew tea the Russian way my mother taught me because strength necessitates dilution. There is always tea and there are always lemons;...
Ancient Astronaut
Everybody needs a beloved. Somelook beyond and above. My baby died in my arms like a Martian, his ribsimploded into the oven of his chest. Away he went, godlovvum. That was10,000 years ago. My baby and I posed nude amidst primitive trees. He peckedmy cheek and it...
Monasteries
Count them luckyWho have them within Who feel no needTo follow prophets To distant islandsOr remote beaches Where salvation is assuredAnd paradise promised. Count them luckyWho know the opening Of gates within, whoSeated as they are Remain beside altarsWhere blue and...
You Have Reached Your Destination
My phone promises me a gas station isthe bookstore I’m looking for. Twice.I consider a metaphor about refuelingor contents under pressure over timebut it would be a stretch. Truth is, I’m lost. Truth is there are no maps for days like this.There is no destination....
April in All Her Awful Beauty
April you break my bones.You sucker punch me right in the side of the head.If there was a mountain in my backyard I would find you therestaring down with a twisted mouth as you hurl lightning bolts, or bouldersthat you have hoisted above your head. Instead, on my flat...
The Raisin & The Bullet
Alicia Rebecca Myers is a poet and essayist who holds an MFA from NYU, where she was a Goldwater Writing Fellow. Her work has appeared most recently in Best New Poets 2015; The Rumpus; Brain, Child Magazine; Gulf Coast; jubilat; The Carolina Quarterly; and Fairy Tale...
Underfoot
i. all mistand movement my daughteris messingwith her hairwith her newbody at the mirror old dogwarming my sleep and a memoryheld betweenthe fingertips smoothpurple glassbead ii. how slowly my heart and lungs the shining reeds filled with grey sunwith...
Imani Davis Wins the BMP 2016 Poetry Month Contest
We are delighted to present the winner of April’s Brain Mill Press Celebrates Poetry Month Contest for 2016: “Grave Robber Digs with a Pen” by Imani Davis. We received submissions from nearly eighty individual poets of a very high caliber, from which poetry month...
How I Will Do It
Under the glint of your glasses I will love you and as the hiss of the last can of Sprite sizzles from your hand I will drink your extra Sprite and I will walk your dog I will love you under the yellow basement lights of the DMV I will let you feed me foreign candies...
Surveillance
I stopped being a writer; today I have the words to tell you why. I don’t write because I’m being watched. I turn off the words; I numb the feelings; I avoid the associations; I distract the thinking; I step away from the situation. I am here to document the ways in...
Leave Your Indoor Voice Behind
When I was a kid, I used my indoor voice a lot, even when I was outside. It didn’t feel natural to me to be loud, to yell. My mom taught me that I don’t need to be loud to get my point across. My mom also taught me and my siblings that it’s important to call people...