Three Keys A bucket of whale oil to fuel the lantern's white flame. The jawbone of a donkey to slaughter my enemies. A raven's feather quill to pen dispatches in invisible ink. Richard Jones is a poet whose most recent books are Passport (Green Linden Press) and Stranger on Earth (Copper Canyon…

Lead After Huddie Ledbetter aka Lead Belly (1888–1949) my stomach is lonely tonight surrounded by cigarettes and spirits & light. i have eaten all i can eat today yet there is still something gnawing at me, tugging at my strings— i have not been loved in its totality here on earth, lord knows & i…

The Boy Who Wore Sunglasses the bus is a rocket ship of suture scars & cases of corona; it is voices that rise & fall like the sea, a camel kneeling in the desert, letting me off on my journey. i am far from home tonight, far from the theatrics of family life, of two parents who wear glasses that…

Jesus Wants Me for a Sunbeam i named all the prophets one by one/ i monitored my thoughts like a surveillance camera from/ the control room of my mind/ i fell off my skateboard & thought/ god was punishing me for touching myself/ in sacrament meeting i could still smell/ the human they tried to…

Preface to a Short Film I Wrote Go to a brothel in Dhaka. Photograph the indentations on the pillows where the sex workers rested their heads during sex. Write a play about it if you can. There are many places where people will not find Shakespeare for you. "Here is Shakespeare. We found him again…

Yes, and thank you for being part of that journey!

Pantoum for love as the color of history The house keeps the smell of nostalgia after midnight. The windows gather the breath of everyone who stayed. A chair remembers the weight of the absent. Somewhere, the last glass is waiting to be washed. The windows gather the breath of everyone who stayed.…

Ghost Surgery I visited myself after I visited my husband who lost his prostate in the hospital. The white corridors there were endless, confusing, and echoed everywhere. The lights were terrible, too strong or too soft. His body was snipped robotically and then it was glued back together as if to…

Marginalia I ask: do her breaths shake the house? With each crossed finger, with each denial does she grow on, unacknowledged? though you tried, tried hard to hold on to the times when people were nothing but an admirer of you I ask: does she still live here? incorporeal and thus unimportant, thus…

Spring River Walk Cadmium yellow dandelions hug grape lake hyacinths. Fuchsia redbud flowers sneak a peak from their branches. Bradford pear trees spill their snowy white petals on the sidewalk and street. The sun spills brightly from a cloudless sky. Lemon-yellow flowered plants carpet the…

After All, People Usually Fall in Love While Standing Awkwardly Next to a Sink Some mornings are warmer than expected. Sweat gathers along the hairline. The regret of sleeping under a quilt arrives before the day does. Some people find it attractive, that raw smell of another body. Ser never…

This Is Where We Begin Stained slippers and threadbare pajamas. I invite you back to your side of the bed. Fights beneath our fingernails, we dug and fed ourselves grace-filled dirt. Awkward fumbling over a familiar dawn. Like teenagers learning to dance. We start, stop, two decades between us. We…

the length… the length of noon beach shadows Gareth Nurden was born in Newport, Wales, and has spent his recent years writing haiku, senryu and haiga, and has had several hundred pieces published by sources worldwide in countries such as Wales, England, USA, Canada, Russia, New Zealand and more.

August Morning, Wednesday on the 5 line into the city. the air is moist with exhale. inside, sweat and grease coat the windows. I pick at my vermilion nail polish. someone's spilt soda hisses at me from the corner. an older woman summons the bus with her cane. without a single word passing her…

How to Swallow July For An the screen door stutters on its hinges, a locust shell kicked loose. july arrives with a slow stretch, curling heat into the floorboards, kneading the long, white glares of the solstice across the counters. the peaches sweat through their fuzzes, soft as bruisable hours.…

When Everyone Believes You, What’s That Like? Let me back that question up— when you believe yourself, what's that like? To be whole, uncracked, able to recite your heart by heart in the flicker of gaslight. A dear teacher once told me to be on the side of the poet. When you're on your own side,…

What’s in a Name? During the night, my father cried out for a woman. The nurses assumed he was calling for my mother. I tell my mother her name meant nothing, just something he overheard as the drugs tugged him under. My mother takes my word for it, as good as true. I'd love to ask him who she was…

A Fleeting Glimpse The sun bobbed up and down in my dorm room window, the floor a whitecapped sea of used tissues. Unsteadily I peeled off my damp PJs and dressed. My fever made its own weather, cold air not quite abutting my skin. I sat in the busy infirmary, unnoticed till an arm cuff puffed to…

Seven Steps for Self-Erosion 1. Get out your kitchen knife. It's not what you think it is, I promise, so do not be afraid. Fear will do nothing but pollute your mind. There is no one you can trust more than me, at least when it comes to rituals of erasure. I've gone through these motions enough…