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Arthur Solway’s poetry and essays have appeared in The Antioch Review, Barrow Street, BOMB, The London Magazine, Salmagundi, Southern Poetry Review, TriQuarterly and elsewhere. He was cited among the 2018 finalists for the Barrow Street Press Poetry Prize, finalist for the Crab Orchard Series in Poetry Award in 2019, and the 2020 finalist for Anhinga Press-Robert Dana Prize for Poetry. A graduate of the Warren Wilson MFA Program for Writers, his critical reviews, profiles, and cultural essays have also been featured in Artforum, Frieze, and Art Asia Pacific magazines. Winner of the 2019 Tu...

Over their twice-monthly pint of Guinness, two friends discover that their babies-to-be, the first for each man, are due only a week apart and that both will be daughters. The fair-haired friend’s happy exultation touches off a series of congratulations from the other patrons; the bartender, who has little girls of his own, serves them several more rounds on the house.

My love mentions that people see stars bestfrom the corners of their eyes, that conescatch color in the centers, but it’s the rodson the outsides that fetch the dimmest portionsof the visible spectrum—and I am forcedto reconcile with the fact that something so roundas vision still pushes people into corners

Outdoors in my sun-blasted xeriscape, a saplingshivers with memories of green rain, greenery of jade dishes, of scallion chins afloat in a bowl of seaweed miso-broth, of uranium milk glass flashing in black light, of fruiting olives finning silver, fanned sage-leaf over bleached feathergrass where bees enflesh their bold, brassy honeycombs –in this margin of humid compost

I hear chains as they approach. There are other rez boys around, so I know I will pay for staring, but I stare. Boys like us are bloodied here. Boys like Micah and me. Micah walks up with the others. He acts like the others. But boys like him and me, we stand too close. We glance at dirty ankles and want to fold our hands around each one. We watch sweat drip down the backs of bodies like our own and want to catch it with our tongues. We watch for a glimpse of the fine hairs that lead beneath basketball shorts as players’ arms stretch up, as the arms pull at the shirts they wear, as their wr...