Rebecca Weiner Tompkins

I wear the heaviness of my mother’s rings: the deep shaded carnelian--burgundy slab--and the veined malachite--oblong green. I don’t usually favor silver, plus they’re huge even on my own large long hands. My si...

The Editors

Sorry, no April Poetry Month this year - but we've still got plenty of poetry coming your way (and prose too!). We'll be running virtual online readings for the duration of the shelter-in-place order (so...September 2021?). ...

Rebecca Weiner Tompkins

Once I pushed the tiller round and round, breaking circles concentric in the dry, knotty ground. What we'd planted before had gone to seasons so long past, the weeds' hold had returned, rooted in clumps of gray rock ...

Rebecca Weiner Tompkins

Rebecca Weiner Tompkins in conversation with Bernard Meisler. Rebecca Weiner Tompkins is a fine poet. Her most excellent collection of poems, King of the Fireflies, was recently published by Sensitive Skin Books. Ad...

Rebecca Weiner Tompkins

IN THIS DREAM We are always dancing: you lift your arms above me like a bird in a summery place. Sometimes there is music and the softest shadows; other times the air carries us through the rhythm of tall, flat buil...

Rebecca Weiner Tompkins

ANOTHER AUTUMNAL Sometimes I imagine parking lots are water, dark seas no longer dry ground but not either anywhere to drown. Sometimes all the trees in the park are radiant yellow in the end of November twiligh...

Rebecca Weiner Tompkins

The limber late light travels across the ridge where the bear climbed. Even with my head thrown back I still can’t take in the tops of the tall pointed trees up there. A friend’s death is flickering in and out of...

Rebecca Weiner Tompkins

AFTER YOU SAID I ALWAYS LOSE THINGS The red birthstone fell out of my ring, leaving its crowned prongs empty, a perfect chip chiseled from my heart’s bones. I dreamed being stopped by the long dark walkway w...

Rebecca Weiner Tompkins

The white rain of petals that fell for a week is done. What catches now in my hair are the dried blossoms of the Callery Pear, startling and crackly, as they float and scatter, rattling through the trees to the street l...

Rebecca Weiner Tompkins

Electronic Dialogue I At my wife’s grave it's changed a lot in a month; someone's planted some forget me nots. It's windy and flower petals from the trees are making pink whirlwinds. https://www.youtube.com/watch?...

The Editors

Contributors to past, present and future issues showed up at the Bowery Poetry Club, August 15, 2010 in New York City. Much thanks to the proprietor, Bob Holman, for hosting us (and for joining us as a special guest star). E...