“When I Was Nine Years Old, The World, Too, Was Nine Years Old. At Least, There Was No Difference Between

june by Kenneth Steven

"The Bull" Ocean Vuong

He stood alone in the backyard, so dark the night purpled around him. I had no choice. I opened the door & stepped out. Wind in the branches. He watched me with kerosene -blue eyes. What do you want? I asked, forgetting I had no language. He kept breathing, to stay alive. I was a boy – which meant I was a murderer of my childhood. & like all murderers, my god was stillness. My god, he was still there. Like something prayed for by a man with no mouth. The green-blue lamp swirled in its socket. I didn’t want him. I didn’t want him to be beautiful – but needing beauty to be more than hurt gentle enough to hold, I reached for him. I reached – not the bull – but the depths. Not an answer but an entrance the shape of an animal. Like me.

Ewald Mataré Landscapes, Watercolor, 1920s

Delightful paintings by Brian Kershisnik

one hundred love sonnets: XVII by Pablo Neruda tr. Mark Eisner

Love You, Sleep Again, Retier Softly, and Pethetic Little Thing by Tracey Emin

“Matilde, where are you? Down here I noticed, under my necktie and just above my heart, a certain pang of grief between the ribs, you were gone that quickly. I needed the light of your energy, I looked around, devouring hope. I watched the void without you that is like a house, nothing left but tragic windows. Out of sheer taciturnity the ceiling listens to the fall of the ancient leafless rain, to feathers, to whatever the night imprisoned; so I wait for you like a lonely house till you will see me again and live in me. Till then my windows ache.”

Sonnet LXV, I Wait For You Like A Lonely House — Pablo Neruda.

i go back to may 1937 by Sharon Olds

we lived happily during the war by ilya kaminsky

some delicious excerpts from "How It Feels" by Jenny Zhang (one of my all-time faves, the whole thing is a treat to read and different every time)