By Victoria Chang
Two swans turn into four swans. As if each swan yearned for time but time just multiplied into other…
Explore Poems: Prose Poem
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- By Abner DormiendoTranslated By Ethan ChuaI laughed when my friend told me ‘laslas’ backward is ‘salsal,’ cutting himself one way, touching himself…
- By Abner DormiendoTumawa ako nang sabihin ng kaibigan ko na ang kabaliktaran ng ‘laslas’ ay ‘salsal.’ Walang tumawa noong…
- By Nay ThitBefore I was born, my mother says, there was another boy. My brother. One day, half-asleep during lunch…
- By Nay ThitWhen the dreamer dies, the dream begins searching for someone else—someone who might take it in and…
- By Nay ThitWhen my turn came, my father dressed me meticulously like a piece of dried fish. We all bear the jagged…
- By Victoria ChangThat two shells could be connected at their centers is a new thought I’ve never had. The way the canvas with its colors now turns into cubes. My life has been livid with itself for too long.
- By Stanley PlumlyThe end, I think, will be a little like looking down as far as I can see to where the wind has kicked…
- By Stanley PlumlyThe euphemism is “infusion” when confusion is what happens, and depends on no time in particular especially…
- 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 Sasha DugdaleThe downs are certainly lovely, although by mortal loveliness
did you mean they would disappear one day… - By Emma TrellesLittle witches, she calls them, appearing on the lawn in a snap, thumbelina morada at our feet and spiked…
- By Lindsay TigueMy messages have exceeded the storage limit and I covet a home. The cat and dog wait for me in particular…
- By Lindsay TigueHave you ever searched for tunnels behind bookshelves? Have you ever zoomed out quickly on Google maps…
- By Harryette MullenWe all crawl under the weather, despite pleading innocence, found guilty in view of a punishing sun…
- By Adedayo AgarauThe mothers are weaving their hair & talking about chickens. Iya Jide, who has poultry with twelve …
- By Yasmine AmeliNanny’s husband is dead, and her six children are growing. Every morning, she readjusts her one fake…
- By Yasmine AmeliSa’id goes missing. Forty years later, my mama tells me his poems got into the wrong hands. It is the…
- By Yasmine AmeliIn another story, my baba bozorg paints flowers. He is little. His name Amir means shah, but the shah…
- By Petr HruškaTranslated By Jonathan BoltonThey had already sat down on the bed. Then the man
remembered the back door was still open. He groped…