With morning, and you
still in your pajama bottoms,
where night ends its dog-nose chill,
night with the prizefighter look,
night with eyes like a safe
that will never be unlocked,
night with teeth like the light
backing into our knees.

Night with hands, needles, violins,
a mouth of wet sand—and dawn,
like you, sliding on a white t-shirt.


Because We Will Not Always Be

When your eyes are too old to read,
and books cease to swoop and attack
(like the child free from the stoop
leaping into crowds of pigeons),
think of me; nature,
cruel in its blazing craft,
         will turn my arms to dirt.

I will turn myself into rain.
I will stand on the edge
and shake out the trees for you.
I will open a small sea for you,
and put my ear to the highest window
         to see if it compares to you.


Volume 12.1 - June 2019

Laura Minor won the 2019 International Literary Awards: The Rita Dove Poetry Award, chosen by Marilyn Nelson, the 2019 Sassaman Graduate Creative Writing Award, and the 2016 Emerging Writers Spotlight Award, chosen by D.A. Powell. She was nominated for a 2018 Pushcart Prize. Her poetry has most recently appeared in PowderKeg Magazine, Arc Poetry Magazine, The American Poetry Journal, O: JA&L, Berfrois, and Queen Mob's Tea House. She was a Teacher’s College Fellow at Columbia University and the recipient of a Sarah Lawrence Poetry Award, chosen by Denise Duhamel, where she also received her M.F.A. Also a singer-songwriter, she is currently working on a third record while she finishes her debut book of poems at Florida State University.