Andrés Cerpa — Seasonal without Spring: Autumn | The On Being Project
A child’s growing awareness of his father’s dementia is the focus of this poem. Older now, the poet offers a tenderness that evaded him in youth.
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A child’s growing awareness of his father’s dementia is the focus of this poem. Older now, the poet offers a tenderness that evaded him in youth.
Who says that fences are part of neighborliness? Darrel Alejandro Holnes’ poem responds to this idea of Robert Frost’s with artistry, verve, and critique.
Guest The Valley. His debut essay collection Before the Earth Devours Us will be published by Split/Lip Press in late 2021. He is the Interviews Editor for the EcoTheo Review, an Assistant Poetry Editor for AGNI, and a regular reviews contributor for Heavy Feather Review. He lives in Austin, Texas. Transcript music: “Praise the Rain” by Gautam Srikishan] Pádraig Ó Tuama: My name is Pádraig Ó Tuama, and for years I had a recurring dream. The dream was always that I was about to walk into a large cave and that I knew that something waited for me in the cave and that I was very frigh...
between behemoth granite shafts, shove my body by their force, leave me roadside and wandering fields. Little is funny when you’re Chicana and walking a Civil War site not meant for walking. Regardless, I ask park rangers and guides for stories on Mexican soldiers, receive shrugs. No evidence in statues or statistics. In the cemetery, not one Spanish name. I’m alone in the wine shop. It’s the same in the post office, the market, the antique shop with KKK books on display. In the peach orchard, I prepare a séance, sit cross-legged in grass, and hold
Transcript Pádraig Ó Tuama: My name is Pádraig Ó Tuama. And when I was a teenager, late one evening I saw my father come into the kitchen, grab a slice of bread, and eat it. I think his blood sugar had dropped. And there was so much about that moment that struck me. I was a teenager with angst about myself and everybody around me, and noticing a moment of vulnerability in somebody else struck me. And I think that was telling me I needed to be a poet, because I had to do something with what I’d seen. And over and over again, the more I’ve written poetry and read poetry, the more I real...