Shuri Kido (translated from the Japanese by Tomoyuki Endo & Forrest Gander)
A long slope. The sun dipped, and finally sank. No matter how long I walked, I stayed in "the middle of the road." The name torn into pieces. Just keeping on, climbing higher and higher I'd completely forgotten the name.
from the journal Harvard Review

What Sparks Poetry is a serialized feature in which we invite poets to explore experiences and ideas that spark new poems.

In our occasional series, Building Community, we spotlight connections between our work on the page and our work in the community. In each issue, we pair a poem and writing prompt from our featured poet with an interview that explores what poetry brings to our neighborhoods, cities, and the wider world – and what community makes possible for poetry itself.

Rosemarie Dombrowski on Public Poetry and Public Health
Photo: Rosemarie Dombrowski
Peter Filkins
Shy panzer of the swamp, atavistic in your haughty calm, you blink at us encapsulated in our swanky Prius . . .

Leg

Danusha Laméris
I think of how I've come to call her sister, dropping the suffix. We've known each other since she was three and I was six. And I don't know what a sister is if not an other, a fragile mirror, space of tenderness. Female, and mortal, and afraid.
Parker Hobson
There is a thin, curvy line between laughter and slaughter, I try yelling to you on the roller coaster but my timing is off, our shark bodies flung into runaway cursive, vestigial Converses dragging serifs across the clouds.
Derrick Austin
              Today I'm happy by myself wandering this creek's paths of sand and crushed shells,               what used to be submerged.

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