By Mayda Alexandra del Valle
I want to ask you if you ever wanted to leave.
If you can see yourself living somewhere other than here…
If you can see yourself living somewhere other than here…
Explore Poems: Coming of Age
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- By Karen McCarthy WoolfThe man in the south, near São Paulo, brown
and lean, in his late seventies, says it’s his bicycle—
he… - By Rodney JonesIt was July. I must have been sixteen or seventeen,
And proud to be chosen for a grown man’s work,
Hollowing… - By Ann-Margaret LimHolding his stare in mine, I flip the bird
at a grown man
on a stool in front of the street bar
on the … - By Mitchell GlazierStiletto melon collies, a tinsel mystic streaks our homeplace.
Lantern flies triple from the sleeping… - By Heidi WilliamsonYou’re fifteen and nowhere in a town on the edge of pitiful lands stripped of fruit. The burger van’…
- By Joshua BennettFor the sake of argument, let’s say
the day my father outlawed all contact
between backhand and face, … - By Shara McCallumWhy yu always ask stupid question, ee?
The man call mango head because him head
shape like mango. What… - By Carol Ann DuffyAt childhood’s end, the houses petered out
into playing fields, the factory, allotments
kept, like mistresses… - By Sarah CarsonThe first gun we knew came in a toolbox for the apocalypse: hammer, barrel, crushed can, pack of Newports…
- By Sarah CarsonThe last man here wanted
what could not be taken: My girl, he'd say,
my baby. The narrow of his eyes… - By Shira HausI prayed for my friend to live and he didn’t. I held his puffy hand, his heart jumping green on the…
- By Miguel A. VegaIf, even now, I am excited about it: every cow & horse,
every canoe on the surface of Pyramid Lake—…
- By Phil Kayeand yes it does beg
the question why
a nine-year-old needs
two twenty-dollar bills still
sticky and … - By Max FischerTaking off my clothes
feels like peeling off parts of
myself as if I’m a butterfly
with its wings sheared… - By Dianna Vegayou’ll listen to what i’ll say.
red is the absolute color
of nature. red is the passing
of your first… - By Tamsin MooreLong, empty roads stretching as long as the gas tank is willing—
Sixty-seven dollars left from last … - By Abriella Guertintwin plaits down my freckled back shining in suburban sunlight. my mother’s hands made…
- By Sarah Azizi
with a pair of solid-gold earrings,
as her grandmother puts it: the
only thing worth anything in the
camp… - By Trina DasThe first time you get sick and your mom
isn’t there to
force-feed you chicken soup and massage
warm…