Jane McKinley
Depression, Early January

Jane McKinley - Depression, Early January

Poetry
Jane McKinley is a Baroque oboist with degrees in music from Northwestern University and Princeton University. She is the author of Vanitas, winner of the 2011 Walt McDonald First-Book Award (Texas… Read more »
Zachariah Claypole White
Elegy After a Disturbance

Zachariah Claypole White - Elegy After a Disturbance

Poetry
Zachariah Claypole White is a Philadelphia-based writer and educator, originally from North Carolina. He holds a BA from Oberlin College and an MFA from Sarah Lawrence College. His poetry and prose… Read more »
Renee Emerson
Every Now and Then the Yard Caught Fire

Renee Emerson - Every Now and Then the Yard Caught Fire

Poetry
Renee Emerson is the author of the poetry collections Keeping Me Still (Winter Goose Publishing 2014), Threshing Floor (Jacar Press 2016), and Church Ladies (Fernwood Press 2023). She is also the… Read more »
Sara Burge
I Look Good in Debt

Sara Burge - I Look Good in Debt

Poetry
Sara Burge is the author of Apocalypse Ranch (C&R Press), and her poetry has been published in or is forthcoming from CALYX Journal, Willow Springs, Virginia Quarterly Review, The Louisville… Read more »
Brian Czyzyk
Rescue Anne

Brian Czyzyk - Rescue Anne

Poetry
Brian Czyzyk is a poet from Traverse City, Michigan. His work appears or is forthcoming in Gulf Coast, Passages North, The Offing, Ninth Letter, and POETRY Magazine among others. He holds an MFA from… Read more »
Sheila Black
The Home Front, 1992

Sheila Black - The Home Front, 1992

Poetry
Sheila Black’s most recent collection is Radium Dream from Salmon Poetry Ireland. Poems and essays have appeared in Poetry, Kenyon Review Online, Ploughshares, The Nation, The New York Times, and… Read more »

Depression, Early January

Jane McKinley

After mild days, snowdrops, a blue-black curtain falls. In minutes, the air blows cold, shutters bang, and dead leaves rise up. They call this madness a blue norther, this squall unloosing rain, sleet, snow, and hail as if the gods were dithering. Then it’s over. Nothing to measure but mercury dropping, sky the blue of alpine gentians. I thought this blue might lead me someplace else. I keep walking that way. There’s no end in sight.
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