Poetry

Associate Editor Kate Jayroe: Choi’s reverberating verse memorializes the lost mail of the Titanic. While we’ve no doubt encountered haunting images, recollections, and creative interpretations of the doomed ocean liner’s maiden-and-final voyage, Choi’s heedful details and sparkling images offer a movingly unique distillation of what was written, lost. Listen to Stephanie Choi read the poem: …

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—much like David Fincher, famous for torturinghis film sets with shot after shot after shot,who may be a strange name to invokehere on this reverent occasion of love,known as he is for such romantic filmsas Fight Club, Zodiac, and Girlwith the Dragon Tattoo, whenin truth, there isn’t anything to be learnedabout commitment that a good …

At the end of the memory, you forgot to close the door. You hear the neighborhood children playing hide-and-go-seek outside in the yard, calling Come out, come out, as if still looking for you. But where are you now? Is this your house? Did you place the cherries on the counter? Is that blood or …

I used to take photos of everything because I couldn’t remember. I took photos of the first crocus of spring, clasped hands and snow on eyelashes, a dog on the street with sad eyes. One night, I held my phone up to a Blood Moon and took photo after photo, all of them wrong. We’re …

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Everything softened, edgeless, peacefully geometric:the fence posts wearing elbows of white, the pool cover snow-smothered, the bird feeder topped with a delicate hat,no birds attempting a December refueling.The truth—it was always the squirrels who ate best, plumping themselves on what they stole. I’ve seen them hurtle their tight little bodiesfrom my shingles, latching to the …

Associate Editor Andy Sia: In Stella Wong’s compact poem, an array of transformations is possible. The bird of paradise seems to lift off into the blank space of the enjambment, but in fact exists in proximity to bamboo: “bamboo chairs.” Read as a verb, “chair” offers multiple, even countervailing registers: to preside over, or to …