Hey Minerva, Remember when you wrote me last week in the midst of some heavy-duty agita? Your sore throat raged like the fires of hell, you got a flat on the way to work, and while you were agonizing over your chapbook submissions, everybody you knew was...
Hammock To a kitchen, to a jungle To sanctum, to circus As I rock in my hammock and smell the warm bananas baking with the butter and the wheat, Smell the fecund river teeming with piranhas and leeches and snakes the girth of a strong man. Rocked, in...
In case you haven’t heard, Minerva Rising’s fifth issue, “Turning Points” is out. I’m so proud of the poets in this issue. With poems like “Sunday”, “true story about lake & loss”, and “What the Apple...
Breathe in oxygen./ Breathe out poetry. -Muriel Rukeyser Breathe out peace, breathe out fullness, breathe out impressions, breathe out truth. . . . But what happens when you have exhaled and exhaled and emptied yourself and there are just. no. words. left?? What...
When two things are touching, says my fourteen-year-old, the expert scientist, who is not quite an expert yet, by nature of his fourteen-year-oldness, they’re not really touching. Between skin on skin, folds of paper, words & silence, ink & white, between...
