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Poetry Winter 2017    fiction    all issues

Cover of Poetry Winter 2017 issue


Cover Thought-Forms

Laura Apol
On My Fiftieth Birthday I Return
& other poems

Jihyun Yun
& other poems

Jamie Ross
Red Jetta
& other poems

Sarah Blanchard
Carolina Clay
& other poems

lauren a. boisvert
Save a Seat for Me in the Void
& other poems

Faith Shearin
A Pirate at Midlife
& other poems

Helen Yeoman-Shaw
Calling Long Distance
& other poems

Sarah B. Sullivan
& other poems

Timothy Walsh
Metro Messenger
& other poems

Gabriel Spera
& other poems

Zoë Harrison
Pattee Creek
& other poems

AJ Powell
& other poems

Alexa Poteet
The Man Who Got off the Train Between Madrid and Valencia
& other poems

Marcie McGuire
Still Birth
& other poems

Kim Drew Wright
Elephants Standing
& other poems

Michael Jenkins
The Garden Next Door
& other poems

Nicky Nicholson-Klingerman
& other poems

Doni Faber
Man Moth
& other poems

M. Underwood
In Other Words
& other poems

Carson Pynes
Diet Coke
& other poems

Bucky Ignatius
Something Old, . . .
& other poems

Violet Mitchell
Deleting Emails the Week After Kevin Died
& other poems

Sam Collier
Nocturne in an Empty Sea
& other poems

Meryl Natchez
Equivocal Activist
& other poems

William Godbey
A Corn Field in Los Angeles
& other poems

Don Hogle
Austin Wallson Confesses
& other poems

Jihyun Yun


So warm the nights

of plum wine and fruit

on your disrobed bed,

mattress shucked bare

but for our bodies

and the wool whiskered

blanket you cherished because

I’d bled on it once.

I said I’ll never understand,

which remains true

but I still miss the moment

arrested. Your walls awash with blues

your wide windows opened to crushes

of milkweed, sage, morning glories

bittersweet as your tongue

in love. Unhusked, I couldn’t bear

to look at you. Your mouth enveloping

the bottle’s lip entirely, your jaw

when you chewed, the muscle there.

The way you tore into clementines

with your thumbs pushing pungent pith

in and apart.

I covered my breasts

with a sheet, but you pulled it away,

bared everything.

Outside, the night swelled

and lulled, livid with cicadas.

Back then, we weren’t made

for tenderness,

though swathed in summer

we fooled ourselves.

Jihyun Yun is a Korean-American poet currently residing in South Korea. A Fulbright Fellow and Pushcart Prize nominee, her poems have appeared in Narrative, Fugue, AAWW The Margins, and elsewhere. She received her MFA from New York University in 2016.

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