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Tender

From This Means War (Issue #55) TENDER Dear patriot Dear catastrophe None of this means what we thought it did   Dear bone fragments Dear displacement Dear broken skin I am in over my head   Dear prisoner Dear, dear wounded You have earned our respect   Dear glad hands, curbed dog Dear perfect object […]

Posted in General, Poetry

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Wordstock Week: Kevin Young

“…All night long
at the Hold’em table
we’ll gamble it all
like tin men hoping
for hearts.”

Posted in General, Poetry

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Wordstock Week: Melissa Broder

Now I make love with no body

I do it with my halo chanting

Set me alive and fucking

A boy attached to no reality

He who needs no milk or punishing

He who will never abandon

How I love my celestial being

He who will never corpse

Posted in Events, Poetry

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Field

Field The plaque said this was the oldest wall in the state. It was stone, set by hand, and ran the length of a field, splitting an unused road from incongruous grasses. It was no less true to say the wall bisected the field. (I could draw a diagram if provided paper.) Let me start […]

Posted in Broadside Thirty, Poetry

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Past Midnight

  And an icy tower was rising out of the sea. A wingless man was filling a bag with pickaxes and asking for directions to our house. The moon was expanding like a balloon and I was worried it might go pop. I could already see through it and there was nothing inside, no bibles […]

Posted in Broadside Thirty, Poetry

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Coastal Craft: Matthew Zapruder

As we continue to take applications for our upcoming Winter Workshops, we check in with a few of our faculty to discuss their own classroom experiences.  Tin House: What can you tell us about your first workshop? Matthew Zapruder: My senior year in college I took a poetry workshop taught by a grumpy visiting Polish poet […]

Posted in Craft, Poetry, Workshops

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Preemptive Elegy

PREEMPTIVE ELEGY   Metaphor frustrates me. It has no limbs or limits, and I have no idea where it came from. I’ve learned   the way for me to tell my father I love him is a game of HORSE, but the hardest way to love him   is to witness his shooting percentage decline […]

Posted in Broadside Thirty, Poetry

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Frieze

Frieze Look at the photo I’m holding an Art Forum magazine My head is cropped off It says Manhattan in the painting behind me but it isn’t Manhattan at all It’s just impressionistic gold leaves in the countryside with no city in sight Zoe Brezsny is a writer from Oakland, California who is now based […]

Posted in Broadside Thirty, Poetry

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The Late Horse Race

Translated from the original Georgian by Rebecca Gould The Late Horse Race   I dream of a horse race. I mount my nag. From every poem I know only my shame remains. Neither crusader nor knight, my battlefield has fled. Fly away with me, my dream, do not linger, wretchedly. My pool of blood stirs sadly. […]

Posted in Broadside Thirty, Poetry

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Please Don’t Feed the Spirit Animals

Please Don’t Feed the Spirit Animals I saw a pair of mechanical polar bears getting it on at the Vienna Prater. It was unexpected—his bucking her from behind while I slid by unobserved in a no-rail cart. Knees to my chin, bar low and tight across my lap, I dropped the fake camera I’d been […]

Posted in Broadside Thirty, Poetry

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The Last Sign You’ll Ever Read: An Interview with John Reed

I am sappy when it comes to love. I’m one of the first in line for a romantic comedy, even the ones that are simply a distraction from the heat, rain, or mosquitos. John Reed’s wonderful new book Free Boat: Collected Lies and Love Poems gives me that same type of humor, love and quirkiness that […]

Posted in Interviews, Poetry

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Life Expectancy

Life Expectancy  It’s 2016, just after gravity’s first speech. Here I am, lying in the dirt, attempting to sense the rotation of an earth I imagine to be singular in space. I watch the breathable take shape, though my eyes are inadequate, poised between nanobes and primitive galaxies. You’ll find me at my sewing machine, […]

Posted in Broadside Thirty, General, Poetry

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Stuck In A Ball

  Stuck In A Ball   Think of the rivers of blood, spilled by all those generals and emperors, so that in glory and triumph, they could become the momentary masters, of a fraction, of a dot. – Carl Sagan   If you want to feel really small you think of Carl and his photograph […]

Posted in Broadside Thirty, Poetry

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A Fly

Walking outside now, beyond the baled

alfalfa, I gaze up where a comet dashes like a mouse

across the kitchen floor of heaven, and there, just below

the Belt of Orion, the photo-ionized gas of the Trapezium

Cluster glows part red blood cell, part luminous wing.

Posted in From The Vault, Poetry

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Minnesotan Association of Rogue Taxidermists

  Minnesotan Association of Rogue Taxidermists   We’ve all had to confront our chimeras and give them life.   If not life, a voice.   If not voice, a body more true to their 1-3 immortal soul(s).   Only we can take the garter snake and recognize the hydra in its separate skins.   You […]

Posted in Broadside Thirty, Poetry

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Fishes’ Tears

  Fishes’ Tears Translated from the Ukrainian by Alan Zhukovski   Spring passes! Birds cry. Fishes’ eyes Are filled with tears. —Matsuo Basho   after the flood subsided we listened attentively to fishes’ tongueless weeping through the lines and planes of gelid water the fishes swam above our sunken ships and we observed the gently […]

Posted in Broadside Thirty, Poetry

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Ode to the Tampon

From Issue 66 Ode to the Tampon Inside-out clothing; queen’s robe; white-jacketed worker who clears the table prepared for the feast which goes uneaten; hospital orderly; straitjacket which takes into its folded wings the spirit of the uncapturable one; soldier’s coat; dry dock for the boat not taken; seeker of the red light of stars […]

Posted in From the Magazine, Poetry

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Philadelphia, Negro

    As we can’t get enough of Gregory Pardlo (his lecture, reading, and pants were some of the top highlights of our recently completed summer workshop), we thought we would revisit his poem from issue #54.  Philadelphia, Negro Alien-faced patriot in my Papa’s mirrored aviators that reflected a mind full of cloud keloids, the […]

Posted in From the Magazine, Poetry

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Birch Skin

The girl holds her thin bark
against the paling sun
in the overcast sky.

Don’t scratch your scab. Foxes
are drawn to the smokey smell
of your healing wound.

Posted in From The Vault, Poetry

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Last Sext: An Excerpt

I AM ABOUT TO BE HAPPY Can you feel it? You are art and you are not art Yesterday I thought it was good to be dead I babbled, a wildwoman boiling your pelt I wore you as my t-shirt and mouth I said it was good for you to be art Save me from […]

Posted in Poetry, Tin House Books

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HONEYMOON

From our current Summer Reading issue, Dorianne Laux’s “HONEYMOON.”   Dorianne Laux’s most recent collections are Facts about the Moon and The Book of Men. She teaches poetry in North Carolina Sate University’s MFA Program. 

Posted in From the Magazine, Poetry

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Yellow Berries

I stop to peer down into the undergrowth–
a tangle of bushes,
small yellow berries in clusters,

a sudden reminder
that no scalpel is whizzing
along my abdomen this morning,

nor have I been taped to a chair
in order to be questioned, slapped,
and asked the same question again.

Posted in From The Vault, Poetry

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A God To Belong To

  A GOD TO BELONG TO   I want to kiss as I want to weed the garden—a cleansing.   This, too, is how God would kiss, I imagine. I am myself also   a God. Because my body, too, housing surprise at the grand narratives   we’ve created. Heaven, Hell— just other words for […]

Posted in Broadside Thirty, Poetry

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Final Girl

The last scene belonged to the final girl, who survived.

Took off down the highway, a storm in the night. She knew:
always you’re the girl or the knife.

Posted in Broadside Thirty, Poetry

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In Bowling Class, I Think of Dad Taking Things Three Months at a Time

In Olympia, my father

to whom I will not speak,

whose face heavies with the shrinking

ledger of days,

plants azaleas after surgery, the grooves

in his fingers filling with soil

and mercy.

Posted in Broadside Thirty, General, Poetry

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