Sherri Moshman-Paganos

Sherri Moshman-Paganos

When they call her name, he kisses her, and she tastes his salty lips. The nurse, unsmiling in her brisk white uniform, leads her into an examining room.

Lake Angela

Lake Angela

We remember, wrapped in black ropes that swayed / me, a cradlesong in the embrace of the snake, / our hearts cracked to cast together better.

Sonya Schneider

Sonya Schneider

Once, a teacher / told me—Need is a bad word. She // stood in front of the class, frowning / at its long ‘e’ sound, as a mother // might frown at her young child / who’s just peed her pants.

Tony Gloeggler

Tony Gloeggler

I’m five years old / again, refusing to wear Bermuda / shorts, begging mom to buy only / long pants, long enough to hide / my iron brace

Beth Anstandig

Beth Anstandig

For instance, I cup my hand over his heart / and it’s like a hand over a heart. // For instance, outside a couple of / night birds / are singing like birds singing at night. // It’s beautiful enough / to name this world —

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The Fall Issue | 2024

The Fall Issue | 2024

At long last, our Fall 2024 issue is here. Check back daily throughout the month of November to read a true harvest of poems, stories, art, and criticism that we’ve curated for you this autumn.

Read the Editorial »

Sebastian Bronson Boddie

I am learning what men do and why they do it. Today, my father / teaches me fear. Mother watches from the house. I watch as if I am outside // myself

Ivy Grimes

How many times did I tell the children? We got this by a stroke of luck, and to luck it might return. Don’t fold it into the shape of a paper airplane. Don’t bet it on a game of chance or skill. Don’t draw it or dream about it.

Patricia Zylius

I can paint phrases that capture my man / veiled and leaning over a hive, ungloved hands / lifting frames aswarm with bees, finding the

Chard DeNiord

There was a space at the table / for a child who’s face I’d already seen. / Who had arrived with a smile in the

Jayant Kashyap

sometimes a bottle // holds me like a tentpole / sometimes // it’s the other way round; and we bottle- /
neck / we flagship each-other.

John Oliver Hodges

He is not our first dead tourist. We have had copter incidents, people cutting legs on ice, avalanche victims. One lady fell down a mine

Ivy Grimes

How many times did I tell the children? We got this by a stroke of luck, and to luck it might return. Don’t fold it

Michael Harper

Mom ruined her $350 wedding dress running barefoot through a cornfield. The hem gathered silky topsoil like the wind.

Michael Hardin

I have never had a particularly good imagination. Really, it’s kind of dire. It irritates my wife that I can’t imagine a future. I’m not

Paul Hostovsky: Pitching for the Apostates | Book Review

Hostovsky’s fondness for words and keen ear for spoken language benefit his writing: he can record and create dialogue in a brilliant and natural way. In this respect, he has more in common with short-story writers than with most contemporary poets, who tend to avoid direct speech.

Interview with Artist Scott Kiernan

B O D Y interviews Scott Kiernan, a New York-based artist whose video, photo and installation works interact in ways that address their own materiality and means of distribution.

Interview with Artist Anna Hawkins

Anna Hawkins is an artist who works primarily in moving image and installation with an interest in the ways that images, gestures and language are circulated and transformed online and the impacts of technology on the intimate spheres of daily life.

Interview with Artist Johanna Strobel

Weaving together disparate references spanning across histories and geographies, German interdisciplinary artist Johanna Strobel explores the entanglement between philosophy, semiotics, and actuality.

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