“At your door I want you to fumble for your keys, postponing our good-bye, or–better–not find them at all so the two of us would have to spend the night in the field at the end of your street like ancient travelers plotting our next day’s journey by the stars.”
— Mark Brazaitis, from “I Know I Could Love You,” The Other Language: Poems (ABZ Poetry Press, 2009)
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I need solitude. I need space. I need air. I need the empty fields round me; and my legs pounding along roads; and sleep; and animal existence.
Virginia Woolf, from The Diary of Virginia Woolf
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June Gehringer, “EARTH IS AN ANAGRAM FOR HEART, U FUCKING IDIOTS”
[Text ID: “I don’t want to talk about it. / I want to lie in what little grass remains / and try to fit your heart inside of mine.”]
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byung chul han, vita contemplativa
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poems from “and yet” by kate baer
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Yusuf Saadi, from "Painting a February Sky"
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S. Erin Batiste, from "Date Night"
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Carrie Fountain, from "Late Spring in the Mesilla Valley", Burn Lake
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rest in peace to the incredible louise glück 💔
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Mohammed El-Kurd, from Rifqa; "This Is Why We Dance"
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“All Hallows” by Louise Gluck
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Sharon Olds, from "Little Things"; Strike Sparks: Selected Poems, 1980-2002
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grief will make you do crazy things. it will electrify the elegant, flower-stem neurons in the amygdala of your brain, will pluck them like an instrument. in ancient rome, grief made men twirl in their thin, leather sandals and pirouette until their feet bled; in india, it walked widows onto pyres waiting for fire. the persians gave the bodies of their deceased beloveds to dogs; the egyptians buried them with their servants. grief will make you laugh at the funeral, weep over the cereal bowl; it will buzz your feet until they start dancing in the middle of the night. it’s grief that inspires the unlikeliest of bedfellows. it will convince you, tugging at the hem of your ragged cotton robe — the one you’ve had since your father bought it for you in latakia when you were fifteen, the one that will always smell hazily of summer — that the building is on fire, the world is on fire, and you’ll only find water in one place: a city as far away from here as you can imagine. grief will pack your bag, quit your job, buy a white dress. it will make you say yes.
the arsonists’ city, hala alyan
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June Jordan, from "Poem For Nana", Directed by Desire: The Collected Poems
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Nikki Giovanni, The Collected Poetry, 1968-1998
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