becoming more

what a good thing to be young and to call the creek behind your home ‘brother’ and to be fed by the same mouth and to spend the most fragile summer nights wondering how one becomes mighty and when — if ever — we learn how to swim in the bigness we will eventually become…

The Quickening of Salmon & Years

From this island                to that isthmus. Here, an egg.                There, a fish. As quick as that. Never mind swimming upstream, breaking       the surface                even momentarily. None of that wild fervor. You will not have cause to travel (the need’s been excised) so loll & fatten, rushing in another way to your slaughter, all sped up, hurtling…

At the Coffee Shop

Outside, a window washer watches me watching him, works a rhythm, window after window, simulating a seamlessness, tipping his squeegee after every-other downward stroke, coercing the water to run like blood from each overlapping pass, though of course he can’t touch my shining smudges, the smeared prints inside, five-eighths of a glinting inch away. ©2018…

Where There’s Life

At the time they lived here, the average age of death for women was around 25, can you imagine that? 25!   She could see that was true. She only had to walk along the first row of graves, Sycamore seeds helicoptering to the ground around her, and she could see that was a fact….

Watershed

poems by Jean L. French Forthcoming 30 May 2018: ISBN 978-1-61019-233-0 Global Edition: print $12 JEAN L. FRENCH is the daughter of a logger and a poet with the heart of a naturalist. The poems in Watershed reflect the push-pull between her two worlds, simultaneously celebrating and mourning the forces that shape life in the…

The Task Eternal

“The children need meat, Eli,” said Bess. They had circled the wagons on the east side of the mountain, so they could catch the sun first thing in the morning. The winter had been cruel this year. They had to bury three of their own before they had even reached the Rockies. Eli looked at…

I wonder what you see…

#WonderFold is a monthly feature that includes a prompt-based writing challenge on the first Monday of every odd month, followed by the publication of a winning response the first Monday of the next month. INVITATION: All art grows out of paying attention: in sight, sound, scent, taste & touch. You are invited to craft a…

askew in vexative disarray

askew in vexative disarray disqualified from the marching band topsy-turvy trombone drool reveille with ill-fitting trousers reliability depends upon premature remorse a bug in the hand beats a bite on the skin tumbleweed tactility orthogonal the one missing glove made for a cold hand so much so kind so what ©2018 Heller Levinson Heller‘s most…

Excerpt from YARROW AND SMOKE

A poem from William O’Daly’s fourth collection — available to pre-order in Sustainable & Global Editions. Legacy Grandfather, these inland hills and the canyons we blasted with .22s shrink in the August sun. Housing tracts put a stop to our bullets; at night streetlights climb like the edge of a wave over sage crowded slopes….

Big as the Earth

by Joe Bisicchia Accessible version: Yes, there’s an elephant in the room. Shall we ignore it? Wish it to just go away? Perhaps we should take it for a walk. Talk with it along the way. © 2018 Joe Bisicchia Joe Bisicchia was an Honorable Mention recipient for the Fernando Rielo XXXII World Prize for…

FoldedConnection: PressFest!

Last Friday, during the PEN World Voices Festival, our Assistant Editor Kristine Slentz showcased our international books via Folded Word’s table at PressFest! — a side event organized by CLMP at the Washington Mews in NYC. Lee Slonimsky and Elizabeth J. Coleman were there to sign copies of Folded Word’s first translation from English to…

Aftermath (Photograph, 1953)

She points past a pile of fallen trees—roots upturned, knowing the grey-clouded sky for the first time. She stands in their midst, the logs lying like a giant’s game of pick-up-sticks. The bank is eroded—smooth, weather beaten. The ground is soggy, and her knee-high rubber boots seem to sink even as she stands, still pointing…