


On the Daily
Curled Thyme
By H. D.
A Dutch writer explores the persistence of an offensive tradition.
In our column Poetry Rx, readers write in with a specific emotion, and our resident poets take turns prescribing the perfect poems to match. This week, Kaveh Akbar is on the line.
In the early twentieth century, Mary MacLane’s genre-defying books earned the scorn of critics and the adoration of readers across the nation.
Our monthly column Feminize Your Canon explores the lives of underrated and underread female authors.
In the end, there was her bed, durable and movable. The sheets, discardable. The straws, the cup, the bedside table. A pack of sponge swabs. The bird on the vine clock calling. There was a draft moving down the hallway, tangible and felt.
Ten days after I called off my engagement I was supposed to go on a scientific expedition to study the whooping crane on the gulf coast of Texas.
Mountain, 2014, glass, cement, polyurethane foam, tink, ink, tape, pencil, pen, aluminum, salvaged shower doors, 85 x 60 x 28". When a student who feels stuck on a writing project comes to see me, I often suggest they unsettle their form. Why not try pushing your story into a place it doesn’t belong? I ask. What if your family history could be, say, filtered into a life insurance claim? Can you rewrite this bad-date tale into thirty interconnected limericks? This is merely an exercise t…
a buried child comes unearthed a zero suma gaping hole there all along one step ahead and fallen into midsentence he imagined her naked in his big bed at night