[Anna] by Julie Carr Finds a bird’s nest in a pile of leaves. Tightly wound scraps of the news. Carries it into the house and sets it on the table. After a while, she goes back out to play. The game she’s playing is called “Anna.” It’s a game in which...
Malamute by Jehanne Dubrow Honduras, 1947 Someone brought winter to the tropics. At first, it slept near the roots of a strangler tree, curled under chairs, licked salt from sweating ankles. It was content. Table scraps fed its belly. Breezes carried the...
{ } by Rachel Springer { } This is my war face whispering for you to get wet. Dark hair pelts you, pots & pans & pigtails clamoring. Had I a horse, I’d hold you to that. Slab on slab of hearing you call daddy, I say fuck me in that order. You give...
Room with Two Windows by Sarah V. Schweig When he left, I was what was left. When two trees fell, I saw them falling. The noise of the street quiets the mind now the trees and wind are gone. Today I watch a man saw away the dead branch he’s standing on....
For many poets, the start of National Poetry Month signals a time to create new work, and to develop their craft in unexpected directions. For those of us at the Black Warrior Review, the month of April also signals an opportunity to appreciate and re-engage with the...