MICRO

[singing bowl]

By CORY HUTCHINSON-REUSS | 12 NOV 2019

By Viviane Sassen — By elvin siew chun wai on stocksnap.

This morning I do and do not have cancer in my breast / near my chest wall / near the hum of my childhood songs / samples / are absorbing dye in the lab / in my thoracic cavity / March snow melting in March rain / Darling I love you / as the present moment / wind chimes recompose a score in the sculpture garden / I walk / through the grove of lindens / inside their tones / again / where years ago I walked without knowing anything / is possible

Cory Hutchinson-Reuss grew up in Arkansas and holds a PhD in English from the University of Iowa. Her poems have most recently appeared in Pangyrus, basalt, Glass: A Journal of Poetry, wildness, and The Missouri Review’s Poem of the Week feature. She has been a Best New Poets nominee and the recipient of the Lynda Hull Memorial Prize for Poetry from Crazyhorse. She lives in Iowa City and serves as a Poetry Reader for The Adroit Journal.

TRANSLATION

"A Memory," "El Viejo Son Oscuro," and "Sonnets To The Rain"

By FINA GARCíA MARRUZ

Happiness keeps quiet, like the child
playing in the corner, lost in her game.

MICRO

Autotomy

By DANIEL GARCIA

I spent an entire year asking: how will I go on without you?

MICRO

red manifestation

By ZAPHRA STUPPLE

I bled to prove:
so this is pain.