Issue > Poetry
B. T. Shaw

B. T. Shaw

B. T. Shaw, after many years in Portland, Oregon, lives with her family and a startling number of geckoes in Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam. Her poems recently appeared or are forthcoming in journals and anthologies such as Seneca Review, Hubbub, and Women Write Resistance: Poets Resist Gender Violence (Hyacinth Girl Press; 2013). She’s completing a second collection with support from the National Endowment for the Arts.

Hour Of Starting

In the hatchback. The forerunner
parked in the sedge past the gore.
Pressed against live oak. The edge.
Unfinished wallboard.

Around the bend on Gumbranch
Road, under the stands where
the high-school kids smoke.

Past curfew. Archie's Nite Club.
The point of knowing where
one ends, another begins.
In the crux

the climber dynos

as though the body
doesn't come down
to five pounds of ash
and a bathtub of spit.

Half-second hang—

illusion of perpetual blue,
dilated expanse before grasping
what's come undone unglued felled
wild and through as though nothing
is beneath you.

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Mark Jay Brewin Jr

Mark Jay Brewin Jr
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Zebulon Huset

Zebulon Huset
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Catherine Stearns

Catherine Stearns
Snow in August