American Poets Abroad is taking a break until the new year. Anyone who submitted poetry before November 15 will hear from us eventually. We apologize to those who are patiently awaiting a response–it has been beyond our abilities lately, but we hope to...

With a purpose, like a lung, I stroll in the dark, like a kidney. This morning the borough bristles with activity, the coffee is good and Garrison Keillor is nowhere to be found. My brain feels like a wet sponge. So for now, in the name of Mr....

In one area of this neighborhood cemetery are the Japanese.  Loved ones bring sticks of incense, which smoke throughout the day. Some leave cups of sake, bottles of beer.   One woman burns paper money, for her husband’s love of...

Nothing but eyes. Eyes wrapped tight In black cloth. Painful eyes Hard to look at. Do they make reports To a pantheon of gods As we watch from binoculars? Surely it is some strange call. They pass the cell phone And hold minute debates. Soon...