I say, I’m hungover, but mean, Burrrp, who poured this grief so strong? —José Enrique Medina

Years later, I imagined my mother was a mystic, that her fever dreams that summer were whispering deeper truths, that the mechanical thump of her heart was a secret numerology. —Doug Ramspeck

catching a tired leaf the veins in my hand —Sharon Ferrante

At our age, making love is like climbing an old favorite tree on a summer’s night … —Karen Whittington Nelson

A marriage is like architecture. —Mary Pecaut

forced to face a hungry, hot stare, we felt them close and thought, we are like this … —Katherine Barrett Swett

If I am to be devoured, then please, God, Night, Mouth in the Darkness, swallow me faster than one hair at a time. —Alvin Lau

I envy how he takes it all in, soothed by the breeze ruffling his fur. —Ken Hines

O Lord of the inverted verb, You Who alone vouchsafe and deign, Whom simpler diction might perturb … —Maryann Corbett

My father and I used to leave each other notes inside the Skippy jar on scraps of paper we tore from the pad that sat by the rotary phone … —Michele Herman

Go out and listen to the frogs, he said. They speak for you. —J.R. Solonche

For we don’t choose what makes us you and me: A kiss you can’t put down, which authors you … —Eric Bliman

Her shoes said, love me like a broken animal. —Jamie Bradley

This hour, children. —Caprice Garvin

Smoke rises with prayers. Ash falls like a reply. —Patrick G. Roland

It would be a lie to say I ate it for both of us, it was just for ravenous me … —Barbara Ford

Last night I had a dream that my father, six years dead now, left me a message folded into some kind of origami bird. —Al Ortolani www.rattle.com/paper-birds-...

Tonight's guest on the Rattlecast is Crystal Simone Smith. Winner of a Touchstone Distinguished Book Award, Crystal uses haiku and other focused forms to explore history and social justice. Join us live at 8pm ET!

Sometimes a good day is finding your name on a letter and sometimes a bad day starts the minute you open it. —Juditha Dowd

We huddle—a murder of pity. —Patrick Roland

These days, I don’t even like to boil eggs for fear I’ll overcook them … —Jennifer Givhan

There are layers to build upon layers and you have to get the gesso right while time taps tirelessly on your shoulder. —Spider Dailey

Note that the Critique of the Week is four hours early today—join us live at 12pm ET!

distant cities on fire, under water and curfew; the blanket wrapped tighter around us … —M.F. Drummy

I kept the one I knew was meant for me … —Charles S. Cobean

He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t see what her arms will carry. —JoLee G. Passerini

Tonight's guest is Al Maginnes. Al is author of 15 books of poems, most recently Second Line, a sonnet sequence. He's one of those poets who's done it all, working as a mail clerk, an electrician, a hammock weaver, and a surveyor, before becoming a teacher. youtube.com/live/Py3BQbq...

Even the green in the churchyard. Even the finch at the feeder. Even the groom before the altar —bone-stoppered—hoping to be filled. —Allisa Cherry

If I wobble, it’s the song of rice, not wine; my bowl practices the smallest poetry: I be, I be. —Shivpreet Singh

May she rest in peace, I say, embarrassed now, but alert, too. Aware. The words as they echo sound so good to me in that hollow place, and proper, and true. —Chris Anderson

all I remember is her buying the first album by Aerosmith but only listening to “Dream On,” the quiet way it opened to let her in … —Charles Carr

I find myself wondering how this happened— that people would come to think of Biscuits ’N Porn and Brew Thru and Duck Donuts and cellphones as essential markers of the American Dream. —Michael Brosnan

We all agree which pain is worse between a fist-full, pulling hair and one strand yanked out from its source. —Chelsea McClellan

Congratulations, you are a cigarette. I will smoke you and stub you out in the palm of my hand. —Amy Newell

This week's guest on the Rattlecast is Nigerian poet and pharmacist Chiwenite Onyekwelu—don't miss us live at an early time, 2pm ET! And bring your own prompt poems! This week's prompt: Write a poem about a time you were haunted and how you overcame the experience.

So do not sing your songs to rouse my head. Sing mine; sing mine. Sing mine instead. —Tangerine Bell

proof in the negative sticking to him like any other stain are you who you say you are jason … —Ingrid Jacobsen

but what an impotent word—resides— just hearing it makes me long for nude photos of his wife. —Ben Berman

A delicate dance, he called it. The height of intimacy. How much did I want to know? —Susan Auerbach

Each woman’s in your harem. Each man’s a catamite, an entry in your ledger that shouldn’t come to light. —Quincy R. Lehr

if we knew then what we know now then the teacher would not have been angry or shaken Richard awake … —Gil Arzola

I brought you to the retreat of this page to ask you: What if we’re born already wounded? —José Enrique Medina

Mother, where are you? Even the twins, who were never born, are here, tossing big-headed mums, each one a soft grenade of memory. —José Enrique Medina, Tonight's guest on Rattlecast 312

Tonight's guest on the Rattlecast is 2025 Rattle Chapbook Prize winner José Enrique Medina! You know his poems from Haunt Me, now get to know the poet himself. Join us live at 8pm ET! youtube.com/live/Nm7gb9l...

My son’s sons will be suns to their own sons. —José A. Alcántara

the night is angry and eating the entirety of the world and it’s quiet, no crickets, the moon afraid to breathe … —Ron Riekki @rriekki.bsky.social www.rattle.com/two-mass-sho...

The woman is the one who loses when a relationship ends, warns my father ... —Jenny Qi

Jeanne, I have spent days arranging this bowl of fruit, all for you ... —Stephen Dunn

Lonely in the rain, the spirit is beautiful. —Jeanie Tomasko

She looked like a Lady. So Lady is what I called her. —Brandon L. Williams