Poetry

December 2025 Poetry Feature #2: Lauren Delapenha, Aimee Nezhukumatathil, Robert Cording, and Rachel Hadas

New Work from LAUREN DELAPENHA, AIMEE NEZHUKUMATATHIL, ROBERT CORDING, and RACHEL HADAS

Table of Contents:
—Lauren Delapenha, “Exodus”
—Aimee Nezhukumatathil, “What They Didn’t Tell Me about Motherhood”
—Robert Cording, “A Sun”
—Rachel Hadas, “Matsinger Forest”

 

Headshot of Lauren Delapenha

 

Exodus
By Lauren Delapenha

The Times article is about the president’s mind
and Xerox-based enterprises like Kodak, Blockbuster, dead-end jobs, and marriages,

and I am so glad the article mentions marriages
given my recent apophatic commitment to romantic

ruination, because who among us hasn’t pressed a finger into the scab
for that foreign roughness, that delicious, needling shaft of sunk cost and thought

that anything is probable in the desert,
even Moses neatly halving an ocean for a nation

December 2025 Poetry Feature #2: Lauren Delapenha, Aimee Nezhukumatathil, Robert Cording, and Rachel Hadas
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December 2025 Poetry Feature #1: Rodrigo Toscano, Olena Jennings, Ezza Ahmed, and Wyatt Townley

New work from RODRIGO TOSCANO, OLENA JENNINGS, EZZA AHMED, and WYATT TOWNLEY

Table of Contents:
—Rodrigo Toscano, “One Like”
—Olena Jennings, “The Pine”
—Ezza Ahmed, “The River That Was and Wasn’t”
—Wyatt Townley, “The Longest View” and “Christina’s World”

Rodrigo Toscano's headshot

One Like
By Rodrigo Toscano 

“Couple Bach preludes, a binding ceasefire,
One Dickenson poem, and we’re all set”
That was the post, like a gleaming beach pier
Charming half way out, torn up at the tip
Battered by statecraft, departmental verse.

December 2025 Poetry Feature #1: Rodrigo Toscano, Olena Jennings, Ezza Ahmed, and Wyatt Townley
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November 2025 Poetry Feature: My Wallonia: Welcoming Dylan Carpenter

By DYLAN CARPENTER

This month we bring you work by Dylan Carpenter, a poet new to our pages. Dylan also has poetry in an upcoming print issue of The Common.

 

Let me, for a little longer, ponder that familiar place
I remember but would not, could not, and had refused to face

Wholly as a place unto itself, instead of an idea
That concealed a recherché emotion: My Wallonia.

How do I begin? The place that I endeavor to portray
Languishes, a somnolent geography, and slips away.

November 2025 Poetry Feature: My Wallonia: Welcoming Dylan Carpenter
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Two Poems by Ahmed Bouanani, translated by Lisa Mullenneaux

By AHMED BOUANANI

Translated by LISA MULLENNEAUX

Portrait of person smiling and holding up their hand. Turned to the right.

Photo courtesy of Archives Bouanani

This country

My country is this horizon with blank pages
where I see skeletons of broken children
wandering, begging for the light of thin wisps
of stories that might finally appease them

In hands the color of amaranth magic
they hold hippogriffs like dogs
a talisman to protect themselves from the lover
with hair braided into black shapes

Two Poems by Ahmed Bouanani, translated by Lisa Mullenneaux
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Lawrence Joseph: New Poems

By LAWRENCE JOSEPH

Ontologies

The love the love that massively seizes me,

                                 the typewriter’s
ribbon needs replacing,

                                 the great imperial
power game the price of oil,

a call, a response, I know you know
how precious to care is, the voice on the record on

the turntable is singing.

Lawrence Joseph: New Poems
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Late Orison

By REBECCA FOUST

Let ours be the most boring of love stories, the happy-ending kind,
the obnoxiously-spooning-in-public kind,

the kind with a long denouement, tedious for everyone not actually
living it. This time around, let the only fireworks

Late Orison
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Waiting for the Call I Am

By WYATT TOWNLEY

Not the girl
            after the party
waiting for boy wonder

            Not the couple
after the test
           awaiting word

Not the actor
            after the callback
for the job that changes everything

            Not the mother
on the floor
            whose son has gone missing       

I am the beloved
and you are the beloved

            We’re all beside ourselves
            as the phone is beside ourselves

One hand grips the menu
the other covers the eyes

            Now the phone rings
            it is singing on the table

To the dog across the room
to the waitress who is waiting

            To the cat on the carpet
            to the couple in the next booth

But the heart is in the cupboard
breaking the dishes

 

[Purchase Issue 30 here.]

 

Wyatt Townley is poet laureate emerita of Kansas and has published six books. Her work has been read on NPR and has appeared in journals from Newsweek to The Paris Review, and Yoga Journal to Scientific American. Commissioned poems hang in libraries including the Space Telescope Science Institute, home of the Hubble.

Waiting for the Call I Am
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Anti-Aubade

By GRAY DAVIDSON CARROLL

November 6th, 2024

I wake in the night, check the news. Watch you
turn in your sleep, rest your cheek on my chest.
How everything and also this: the heat of your skin,
hand wrapping my waist, the off-beat of our breaths
finding rhythm in the dark.

In the kitchen, I cry to the sound of my mother’s sobs.
Count the injections I have left before the vials run out.
There is no point in asking how, in asking why. Empire
does not answer questions. Genocide does not answer
questions—the answers were right there.

At the train station, the man next to me cries, 
turns his face to meet my own. Somehow, the sun
is shining. A dog barks. Someone laughs. Everything
fragments. A mother & daughter step up to the tracks,
squeeze each other’s hands.

 

[Purchase Issue 30 here.]

 

Gray Davidson Carroll is a white, nonbinary writer, dancer, singer, cold water plunger, and (self-proclaimed) hot chocolate alchemist hailing from Brooklyn by way of Western Massachusetts and other strange and forgotten places.

Anti-Aubade
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In Another Version

By ELIZABETH METZGER

 

They walk to the ocean, talk about all the relationships
            that have fallen apart around them.
So many women they know pursued love
            and risked their chance for children.
The sound her hand makes against his sleeve
            is the sound of palm trees.

In Another Version
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