Heidi Seaborn

April 16, 2018

Off Alki

I dropped my father’s crab pot
into the Sound on a king tide,
watched the buoy marked
by his hand sink into the black.

I returned every day by kayak,
stirring the sun off the water
to peer for his name lost
amongst the kelp, his ashes.

Lynn Miller

April 9, 2018

Bright carp

your woven hues of orange
swimming against the torrent
of the indigo waterfall.
Stay strong --
don’t fall back.

Moises Himmelfarb

April 2, 2018


Sin versos, sin ríos, sin luces.
Subyace la gota, la vena revienta.
Sin sangre, sin besos, sin lunas.
Tenemos reflejos, las olas excavan.
Sin noches, sin hielo, sin cuerpo.
Hay una espalda, un corredor, una puerta.
No tenemos espacio para tu sed.
Una garganta se petrifica, sin nada.

Fernando Pérez

March 26, 2018

Creosote Rains

Water from belly.
Forgotten faucet.


Black hair rivered over
the cliffs of her shoulders.


Resistance: the knotting
of a leaky hose.


Place a marble on her tongue,
a penny between her brows
to damn the river of blood
coming down her nose.

Mai Nguyen

March 19, 2018


Dòng nước xanh ngần trong vũ trụ
Dòng nước mắt đau của con người
Dòng nước luân lưu trong cơ thể
Dòng nước cuốn trôi đi tất cả
Dòng nước trôi đi và đi mãi
Dòng nước nào nhân thế cũng cần
Dù cho nước sạch hay nước dơ

Shahani Sainulabdeen

March 12, 2018

Girls Don’t Dive

Girls don’t dive, her mother said
So she just dips her feet wet
In the temple pond
while her brothers plunge
Water hands will not choke you, they taunt
Water monster is not afraid of the boys, they bellow
“We are all bodies of water”,
She whispers to her reflection.

Carter Anderson

March 5, 2018


To Carter from Mikey
the water tastes as good as strawberries.
the water looks as nice as strawberries too.
nothing is sweeter than you!

Jevonne Diljohn

February 26, 2018

Your body of water

Your body of water isn’t always as lake or pond as you think.
Sometimes it oceans and seas itself for what it is.
Storming words, whirl-pooling thoughts, deep dark gazes, and clashing ways!
You tsunami your way through lives,
Unapologetically storming anything that dare be still.
Don’t stop!

Kevan Atteberry

February 19, 2018

The Third Option

Floating is not
an option

It may have
never been.

Shake awake
those dormant fins
and learn to
to swim again.

Kiana Davis

February 12, 2018


Walking miles on land
their bloodlines watered with their sweat, blood, and tears
for justice, a faucet slow dripping poisoned lead water into the mouths of children
cries for clean water, asylum, and peace
are met with contempt and death
not to drown in the waves of inhumanity
they walk………

Yuan Yin

February 5, 2018



可以触碰你 不能包裹你

Noor Samra Manleen Kaur

January 29, 2018


Rain is falling
Birds are calling
the sky is gray but I still play

As the sky clears a rainbow appears.

Sally Bedford

January 22, 2018

Water Softens the Foot

He would know. Laborer of trees, wood turner.
His hands trail surfaces, humming:
                      cherry, maple, birch, walnut, teak.
When I flinch from a splinter stuck in the arch of my foot, he says,
                      “Put your foot in warm water. It will release in warm water.”

I do, and it does.

Samson Yirsaw Getenet

January 15, 2018

የውሃ ብሶት

አምና እንዳሳለፍነው….ከባህሩ ዳርቻ
 ዛሬም በቀጠሮ ….ሄድኩና ለብቻ
 ውሃን አገኘሁት…ሚስጥሬን ላጋራ
 ያለኝን ሳላስቀር ….ሁሉንም ላወራ::
 ድሮ የማውቀው ውሃ.…አሁን ግን ደፍርሷል
 መልኩ ተጎሳቁሎ….ውበቱ ገርጥቷል
 ለምን እንደሆነ …ምክንያቱን ስጠይቅ
 እንባ እያነቀው….አጫወተኝ በጭንቅ
 እንዲህ ደም ግባቱ … ወዘናው የጠፋው
 ውስጡ ተበክሎ…..ዘይት የሚተፋው
 በሰው ልጆች ጥፋት …መሆኑን ተረዳው::

Ander Lyon

January 8, 2018


My limbs wrap around his
shoulders as broad as my wing span –
our hands clasped tight to each other.

We watch our history
in the river, he walks steady.
Certain there is nothing

other than water in the darkness
we wade through: endless
birds singing patience over our trespass.

Oliver Horner-Devine

January 1, 2018


mountains higher
                   hills lower
                          wind blows
                                     water flows
                                                around the mountain standing still as stone
lakes glistening
                   rivers waving
                          streams twinkling
                                     swallows swoop
                                                around the mountain standing still as stone

Ebo Barton

December 25, 2017


When you’re drowning, your lungs will learn water.
You will suffocate and it will take you
but your lungs will learn water
How can you expect me to drown?
How can I wear this gender when it was water all along?

Glory Busic

December 18, 2017

Underwater Dreams

Depression is like being underwater
Holding your breath
And trying to keep swimming.

But then swimming becomes your life
And you begin to forget that you can’t survive under there,
Until it’s too late and you’re drowning
Your family and friends screaming.

Then you remember,
You can’t breathe underwater.

Patricia Ferreyra

December 11, 2017


Te presentaste una tarde
tibia, gris de primavera
llamando a
los ventanales
constante y suave
pero con firmeza.
Invariable y cambiante
de atemporalidad certera
en tu vertical
me recordaste
tu naturaleza.
Continúa tu descenso,
alimenta lo vital.
En este caos terrenal
existo para siempre
gracias a ti… agua.

Zephyr Cooper

December 4, 2017


the dandelion is gentle
but more gentle is the rain
leaving it
a perfect white circle

Svetlana Natalicheva

November 27, 2017


Лишь руку протяни: за пёстрою листвой –
Студёный ключ с водою ключевой.
Живую воду не включают краны.
Не даром в сказках ей врачуют раны.
Живые соки в нас по венам рук
Струят, как родники, земные реки,
И ключ от бытия есть в человеке:
В воде живой, которая вокруг.

Chelsea Hendrickson

November 20, 2017


Don’t forget the water, so I take my hand off my paddle and lay my fingers in the water and introduce myself

Remember the Spirit , 3 days no water, 3 days in the sun, I pray our minds become one

Mni Wiconi

Nec Nii’iine’tiitooni

Water is life

Phillip Smith

November 13, 2017

Raging Water

Oh raging water
Tell me, why so angry?

Three small children in Thailand
sleep alone on the street
while happy men in America
count money in their sleep

Oh raging water
Tell me, why so angry?
This injustice between lands
is it all you see?

Tesfaye Demisse

November 6, 2017


የደም ዝውውሬ የልቤን ትርታ
የነፍሴን እስትንፋስ የህይወቴን ቃታ
የሰውነቴ ሰውነት ተራሮች መሀል መንጭታ
በጅረቱ ተንደርድራ ፈጥና መጥታ
ጥሜን ልትቆርጥ ልትሰጠኝ እርካታ
ወጪ ሳላበዛ ሳልጨነቅባት
ጥርት ያለች ውሃ እንከን የሌለባት
በየ’ስቴቱ ላይ ፈልጌ ያጣኋት
ሲያትል ስመጣ እቤቴ አገኘኋት

Nephtalie Marie Gonzales

October 30, 2017

Different, but the same

Your water is clean,
and affordable.
It comes from plastic bottles
you only used once.

My water is
dirty, and full of soil,
from a faucet and well
my whole village shared.

But in the end,
water is still water.
Only it is your water,
and this is my water.

Steven Heller

October 23, 2017

Be Like Water

Bruce Lee says:
Be Like water.
I am Water
Water discharged
from the pain ducts
of war and suffering.
Don’t sleep long
or drown in the cupped faucets
of tear drenched lids.
Wake up Now!
My two eyes:
Twin rain barrels
Focused on Watering:
The Cherished.

Rajvinder Kaur

October 16, 2017

Sonny Nguyen

October 9, 2017

ba ngoai

My grandmother cries
tears creating oceans,
separating her
from sons, daughters.

Her monsoon tears
have watered,

My tears never created anything.
they don’t know how.
They only know to ask
why doesn’t he love me.

My only Vietnamese
is her only English.
cảm ơn,
thank you

Gerri L. Williams

October 2, 2017

Ceremony at Cannonball River

Water upon my face,
I thank you.

Water upon my lips,
medicine to me.

Washing my hair in
Cannonball River –

strengthens me.

I place cedar roses
in water,

as sun opens
her eyes.

I stand against
the black snake,

with my fist to the sky.

Dedicated to Standing Rock

Daisy Shepherd

September 25, 2017


“come to the sea”
she whispers in my ear
i feel saltwater rush into my head
against the shores of my brain
my cracked lips know the waves’ familiar sting
the barnacle bitten shell digs
into the side of my head
i hear her
i hear her

Carla Saulter

September 18, 2017

Mother’s Water

They say the body is 60% water
But there is none left in mine


So many more

I see their mothers
Unspeakable suffering
To spare someone else’s children
My children

I weep until there is no water left.

Enmanuel R. Arjona

September 11, 2017


Mi cuerpo de agua
Se evapora con la brisa
Se condensa, se acumula
Cae del cielo en lagrimitas.

Corre libre por los ríos
Cascadas y raudales
Duerme entre los lagos
Y juega en manantiales.

Ya cansado de viajar
Impaciente en tierras bajas
Se filtra sigiloso
A descansar en aguas calmas.

Mario Paduano

September 4, 2017


The land and the sea wondered
     who surrounded whom?

In the end they decided
     it didn’t matter.

Dennis Lam

August 28, 2017



Cal Jones

August 21, 2017


Here I sit

In the y-shaped branches of the


I close my eyes

Letting the sun soak through me

Warming me

I hear the river

Chuckling over the rocky bottom

And further on

Around the corner

Roaring laughter

From the rapids


The thunderous


Of the waterfall

Donté Johnson

August 14, 2017

Be ocean

My grandmother said be as the ocean baby

I always thought she meant be a big wet thing with no end

thought she wanted me to touch everything,

To be home to millions of living things, be the salt on their tongues, be full, be beautiful,

did I do good?

Leonard Manevich

August 7, 2017


Подобно морю штормовому,
Кипит кровавая вода…
И волны к берегу пустому
Несёт она, собой горда!

Как заколдованная дева,
В плену у чёрных берегов,
Полна неистового гнева,
Она всё рвётся из оков…

И, обессилев от сраженья,
Разбив о камни руки вкровь,
Она то спит в бреду забвенья,
То начинает битву вновь!

Joy Okot-Okidi

July 31, 2017

I know what the water wanted (Inspired by Hurricane Katrina)

I know what the water wanted

They whispered
Did you see how dark she was

I know what the water wanted

Bullets plunging under water
Engulfed, drowning

I know what the water wanted

A color you tried to wash away
It is permanent

I know what the water wanted.

Miguel Running Hawk

July 24, 2017


Water is life that is in us
And brings us together
forever as friends and family
even who we don’t know

Getachew Admassu

July 17, 2017


ሰውም ሆነ እንስሳው፤
ፍጥረቱ በሙሉ
ጠጥቶ እሚረካው፤
ሣር ሆነ ቅጠሉ
ምድሩ ልምላሜው፤
በውሃ እርሶ ነው የጸናው አካሉ።
ባንቺው ታጥበን ጸድተን
አንቺን ተጎንጭተን፤
የገላ እድፉንም ባንቺ አጥበን አጽድተን
የሕይወትን ጉድፍ በሚቻል አንስተን
ያላአንቺ የት አለ ልምላሜና ሕይወት፤
ጠውልጎ መርገፍ ነው
ከስሎ መጥፋት ውድመት
ዓለም ኦና ሆና …ምድር ባዶ መቅረት።

Mary Rose O’Reilley

July 10, 2017

Baptism in the Salish Sea

In the name of the sun
and the moon

and the holy earth,
protect, Grandson,

the J-pod orcas,
killdeer, all kin.

Honor your mothers,
sea star, cedar.

Love grounds you,
be kind.

Touching a tumbled agate
to your tongue

I say as you lick salt:
This is the world.

Jang Bahadur Singh

July 3, 2017

Hayden Hunskor

June 26, 2017

The Walk for Water in Ethiopia

In the wake of donkeys, we trudge.
The dusty ground, a well worn haunt.
A jarring juxtaposition
of wealth and poverty
revealing nothing but solemn expressions,
parched lips,
and dreams of clean water.

Emily Porcincula Lawsin

June 19, 2017

“Tubig” Means “Water” in Filipino

Mama carried jugs on her back
during the war,
struggled sea sick across the Pacific,
found true love on her first day in Seattle:

on bended knee,
Papa taught her to dig
the sunset sands of Alki Beach,
for Geoduck -- not Manila -- clams,
laughing, in boots
too big.

Frank Nguyen

June 12, 2017


Chiều hoàng hôn nhạt nắng
Trên bờ biển nên thơ
Đôi nhân tình say đắm
Âu yếm tay trong tay
Đôi chân trần rảo bước
Trong làn nước rì rào
Niềm hạnh phúc trào dâng
Sóng nhấp nhô đang hát
Cùng nhịp đập con tim
Nơi tình yêu vừa chớm…

Dalia Maxum

June 5, 2017


Entre montañas donde las nubes besan sus caras
Entre tobalás a media espada
Entre luciérnagas borrachas

Tu corazón sangra agua
como los ríos furiosos
Cuando bajan y nacen los retoños
Agua de los trozos rotos

Sólo una mirada
Una frase no encontrada
Olvidaste tu espada y hasta mojaste tu alma

Margo Hartland Wyckoff

May 29, 2017


捕蟹 Crabbing
We set the crab pots
in deep water which swallows
the thin morning light

潟 Lagoon
Silent as two loons
they paddle between the eyes
of black sand dollars

月 Moon
The harvest moon shines
above the swells of herring
and night comes hunting

Cante Remle

May 22, 2017


Mni is healthy and beautiful.
She helps our bodies and makes me feel good.
Lots and lots of water is in our bodies.
We are water.

Colleen J. McElroy

May 15, 2017


a wolf spider guards the mail box
above the shallow place where rain collects
we who rush for news of the world
feel blessed by these last rain free days
the spider waits for some morsel of food
we rush for what news keeps us
hanging on for dear life

Karen Anderson

May 8, 2017


From the sky
to the lake
to the pipes
to the tap
to the pot
Add vegetables, herbs, and oil
Simmer slowly
Sip by the window,
thanking the rain

Josephine Barnes

May 1, 2017

Lake Washington

Fog covers over you
Sun light sparks off of you – like an idea from my head
Slowly, you drift away…

and then come back.
Hot summer days come
Children splash and play in you
At night, you rest for the next day.

Akua Kariamu

April 24, 2017


The pain of the past
Visits me in my faucet
I respect my earth.

Victoria Rolph

November 2, 2015

House Key

Home is a place
hidden in a cul-de-sac
of my heart.

Take a right turn
at the cherry blossom tree
and come on in.

I have your key
kept in the cracked pot
on the porch.

Stay as long as you like,
but wipe your feet
on the way out.

Seth Zuckerman

October 26, 2015

Enclosures not permitted

Sun blazing
muggy air babbling with unfamiliar tongues.

In the house, cool and dark, I scribble to my grown sister.
Lucky one.
She got to stay in California.

I’ll fold the blue sheet into an envelope
wishing I could wrap myself inside it
and mail myself back home.

Lindsay Little

October 19, 2015

Perdóname, Is This Home?

Mi mama ha aprendido
el ingles,
y ya,
Estoy aprendiendo
el español.
Y ya,
todo lo que pensaba
todo lo quería ser la verdad
mi mente, mi corazón, mi alma-­
para encontrar

No puede ser un idioma.

Suzanne Bailie

October 12, 2015

Refrigerator Door

Home is where the heart is.
Hearts, in jars, on a glass shelf.
Hearts, on tattooed arms with bloody drips?
Uh no.
Hearts, by teenagers, their folded fingers and palms touching?
As if.
Hearts, drawn in purple crayon on paper, taped to the refrigerator door?
Yep, like that.

Shelby Handler

October 5, 2015

The Moon Lays In Bed With Me

and we compare definitions of home.
Moon croons of gravity,
pull and cycle.
She swings into my window,
I give her the scent of latke oil
and Shabbes candle wax.
I show her the orchard
of split tongues.

A sway settles in us:
the shiftinginfinite home
of diaspora.

Anna Mortensen

September 28, 2015

Front Yard

The red white and blue flag
hangs outside the window
above the wild green shrub
dancing gracefully in the wind.
The thriving garden grows
next to the old wooden swing set
and the clucking chickens.
Cluck! Cluck! Squawk!

Sarah Baker

September 21, 2015


Home is spun, a sticky
body bound—made
more maker, less stead,
more land. I want
to be base-
less so I’m always
in the stretch
of free, sweet leaving.
I run away;
how a pigeon finds
her page—can’t be
sick if I’m grown
from a home with range.

Anna Vasilevskaya

September 14, 2015


Вот олениха идёт с оленёнком,
Под гору мчится мамаша с ребёнком,
Бак перевёрнут, и сорвана крышка –
Значит, наш бак инспектировал мишка!
Зайцы и кошки, кроты и собаки,
Птицы и рыбы, зелёные раки…
Люди и звери ‐ мы все живём рядом
В городе, схожем с большим зоосадом!

Rebecca Loudon

September 7, 2015

Morning brought wetsuits draped like soft skins across the rhododendrons

Gone are my forbidden Saturday Cheerios,
cartoons, lazy lounging in pajamas, in bed.
Surfboards propped against the garage
signal get up! get up!

Oh wild children, have you returned to vex me?
Did menacing thunderheads drive you
from the rocky shores of La Push?
Did a shark spit you out?

Anh Phan

August 31, 2015


Before age 11, home was an old wooden house.
Dad just came home, tired, sweaty, but smiling
“Dinner is ready, everyone!” Mom shouted.
Days of innocence, we munched away happily
The greens & rice prepared by loving hands.
Later, we fell asleep, listening to the rain
Drip, drop… drip….drop…..

Paul Mullin

August 24, 2015

Instant Messenger

Don’t let not knowing who to mail it to
stop you from sending praise. Just drop
gratitude anywhere, everywhere.
It’ll get where it’s going.

Praise the connections and contingencies,
the blocks and bruises, the stupid choices
that led to this dreamy-eyed kid kissing you.
Praise every worn corner of concrete.

Katharine Ogle

August 17, 2015


Home So Small Far Away

The front door was red then.
When I had to wait I thought

of cicadas. When I had to cry
I went to my spot by the creek.

There was no smell without taste.
I had a thing for rain. To be alive

in the throat of a flower.

Nhan-Kiet Ngo

August 10, 2015

Đi Về

Gập ghềnh lăn xả trên đường
Quanh co khúc khuỷu tìm phương đi về
Bốn mùa lèo lái mải mê
Nhịp đều lui tới trên lề thời gian

Michelle Peñaloza

August 3, 2015


The melody of a first song vibrates
through the cochlea’s staircase;
a fetus stirs at the sound of her father’s voice.

Return to whatever you never knew
you left, to the immediately recognizable

unseen like the message within a tree,
revealed only when sawed down
and split the length.

Van Ro Ceu

July 27, 2015

Memories of My Home

Remembering the storm of war in Burma
Darkness in every village,
Villagers’ tears falling like water falls.

And remembering Kyaiktyo Pagoda
From the top of the mountain looking down
And fruit from my grandfather’s garden,
Scents of mangoes and pineapples,
Sweet, the juice of God’s glorious gifts,
And life giving.

Obsa Seid

July 20, 2015

My Life in My Country

I remember my life in Oromiya,
the days I sat with my grandpa
telling me stories
about the history of my ancestors,
I wish I could see Oromiya and my grandpa,
with his white blanket
the color of silvery snow,
and his long walking stick
that stretched to the sky.

Merna Ann Hecht

July 13, 2015

Across Borders

I braid my grandmother’s old world
recipes into each new day,
join others who dream
of beloved hands
slapping tortillas,
mixing injera dough,
knowing scents and flavors travel
with us across borders —
pickled herring, chili peppered stews,
samosa, pita, challah—
our hearts full
with pungent spices of home.

Mercedes Lawry

June 29, 2015


On muggy summer nights
we sat, sweat-stung, on hilltops
and watched rivers of fire flow,
gold against black,
a strange beauty from the mills
that stirred a curious and tender shame.

Melanie Masson

June 22, 2015

Love Letter to the South

More than once
I’ve climbed behind the wheel
of a sweltering vehicle
in the late afternoon
for no reason but to steep
in the trapped heat of your summers,
dredging the memory
until my skin beads and pools over –
all honeysuckle and hymns.

Mary Edwards

June 15, 2015


Like catfish at the
MLK and Cherry corner:
Grits and y’all,
lightening cracked the skies.
on the #3 I bounce:
Benaroya to Harborview
To home.
Riders board:
A tourist without change,
Ladies in sun-dresses and leather boots,
Gents plugged-in and tuned-out.
Me, with my bus pass:
Belonging —

Martina Allen

June 8, 2015

Home is Green

Soft grass under cold feet,
Potato bugs under flower pots,
Smelling dark dirt and bright bark and sticky pine needles.
Home is new growth from prickly rose bushes,
Savoring Mom’s hot chicken stew,
Falling asleep on feather pillows,
Eyes closed, lips smiling lazily with lush Seattle pride.

Vladimir Kirsanov

June 1, 2015


Я – трёхлетний малыш,
На пороге избы.
На коленях баян –
Раздвигаю меха,
В даль лесную гляжу и играю…
«Батя, где ты?» -¬ мой сын,
Третий годик ему,
Он в высокой траве заблудился.
Я учу его быть!!!
Как учил меня Батя.

L. J. Morin

May 25, 2015

If You Could See Your Old Home Again

As if through aquarium glass:
near, clear, untouchable.

Faces and buildings you once knew,
skewed. You left in haste, now go back

as a diver transported, in
that world but no longer

of it, the sea
conducting your grief

to your skin: the lost bones
are your own.

Sharon Hashimoto

May 18, 2015

My 92-Year-Old Father Drives Through The Old Neighborhood

He hates diamond-shaped wire
cutting everything he sees.
What felled trees, memories
of the wife ladling Plum Nutty Jam?
Where’s the fence he and his kids
nailed before they grew
into two-storied houses
they own now? Behind doors, where
are the Beppus, Tanagis? And Marian,
the widow, drawing her shades?

Laura Burgher

May 11, 2015

show me the way

wriggling free from
restraint the monarch
invokes vestiges
tightly wound
in sheaths of gold
navigating memories left by
hovering spectacularly
over runways
mostly blind
to the fluttering

Katherine Sotol

May 4, 2015

Before the Divorce

Before modular jacks,
My father’s business phone
Was in our house.

Sick of business, and tired
Of answering the ring,
He put the phone in the refrigerator,
Next to the cottage cheese.

When silence wasn’t enough,
He put my mother’s Boston Fern
In the vegetable crisper,
And closed the door.

Ngoc Nguyen

April 27, 2015


Tôi nhớ mùi hương bưởi Biên Hòa,
Cầu Ghềnh mấy nhịp, Phố bắc qua
Dòng nước Đồng Nai sâu trong vắt
êm soi dáng núi,bóng trăng ngà.
Ngô Quyền tan học, tà áo trắng.
quấn quít theo chân bước thướt tha.
Từ dạo em đi xa biền biệt,
Núi tối tăm,sông nước nhạt nhòa

Nikkita Oliver

April 20, 2015

Speak and Find Your Self Home

I know so many four letter words.
But “home” is the hardest to find.

Tucked away in the four corners of my jaw,
Can’t say it’s where I come from,
But I’ll speak it where I am.

Jessica Frederick

April 13, 2015


Thick, sudden silver bumps the ceiling of the riverbed,
finding pathways behind slick blooming rocks –
swarthy scholars of the lowland loops, sliding across
the roughs of watershed and homestead.
Cartographers, from sea to rest,
they blush the lake’s blue in a turnabout west.

Jake Kurlander

April 6, 2015

Different Here

Here, birds still sing in the morning, but their songs are higher, faster.
The brilliant sun still rises, but above different, snowier mountains.
Leaves still coat the ground in the autumn, but their contours are sharper.
The blue waves still crash on the beach, but onto smaller, rounder rocks.

Jeff Crandall

March 30, 2015

The House is Great but the Yard’s a Wreck

Dead weeds. Chain link. Prison cell
ambiance. My new yard needs a little love.
So I will plant trees in every corner.
I want a trunk to hold the washline.
Billowy leaves showing the seasons.
A hammock to swing me through every summer.
I want deep roots here.

Ana Garcia

March 23, 2015

A mi tierra querida

Te recuerdo en las plantas de mis pies al correr descalza.
Te siento en mi piel bronceada cuando el sol la alcanza.
Humean tus aromas en mi mente como el café en la mañana.
Te extraño y te veo en toda la gente de sonrisa amplia.

Hamda Yusuf

March 16, 2015

Home is Where Your Nose is

Most days I can still smell your scent
on my body,
Clouds of frankincense in my hair,
Clothes soaked in Rosewater,
Fingers star speckled
with cumin
and chili
and curry dust.

I wonder,
When does one lose
The smell of home?

Glen Dodge

March 9, 2015

Classic Lover

read me all the way home baby
it’s okay if you can’t put me down
later when you’re older
you can crack me open again
and I’ll show you something new
even though I’m always the same
I’ll change you every time

Francesca Myhrvold

March 2, 2015

Writing a Home

It will be hard at first.
Coming from childhood where there was always
A soft place to land,
The wider world will seem cruel.
Don’t give up.
Build yourself a house
Out of the things you tell yourself
On rainy days,
Write yourself a home
To keep you safe.

Ethan Marzban

February 23, 2015

A Letter to Home

I am writing in the hope that you may find me,
for I know not whether you are the place of my birth
or of my rebirth.

I do suspect, that once all is said,
you will be me,
for perhaps Home is the one constant to us all: Self.

Nelya Galiakbarova

February 16, 2015

Сон о доме

Мне снится детство. Я вхожу в наш дом,
Там мама молодая за столом,
И слышен старших братьев смех.
Они зовут соседей наших всех
Бежать и прыгать с крыши сеновала
Туда, где трав душистых покрывало!…
…И чувство невозвратности, потери,
И невозможности опять войти в те двери.

Christopher J. Jarmick

February 9, 2015

Poem Owner

Dear Poem Owner,

Sorry you weren’t home.
I used the hidden words
to get inside.
Moved around things some…
careful not to disturb too much.
Washed some dirty words,
watered the ideas you planted
and threw the adverbs down the garbage disposal.
Seemed like the least I could do.


Denise Calvetti Michaels

February 2, 2015

Ode to Earth

On the midnight train you will remember
sweet, burnt, marshmallow-mouth kisses;
Stillaguamish canoe trip, cold water wade,
knee-deep, hooking steelhead, rainbow trout.

The body’s ache for rain. Font of a buddy’s
name chiseled on the wall. Craving apricots.
These things you’ll remember, leaping
fireweed, ponytail ablaze, snaring seed.

Deborah Bacharach

January 26, 2015

Our Rain

The soaked black sky of winter.
Rain riding the moon,
the undulating lake.

The pale green spiral of spring,
fierce diamond mountains.
Platinum rain.

The sputter spritz
of summer. Deep green
pines, eagle graced.

The stuffed sky white
with gurgle splash fall.
Fern scented soil.

Our clear azure rain.

Dave Francis

January 19, 2015

It Went Without Saying (We Might Not Return)

When we left our country
we knew how Time swallows
in Big Gulps, wiping her chin
with a smile. But isn’t that
an acceptable way to come and go –

considering that the Grizzly
that escaped from his cage
at Point Defiance Zoo in July
1937 was never found?

Clair Dunlap

January 12, 2015

Summer 1999

i grew up sipping on
salt & soundgarden,
burning my shoulders salmon pink.

i cradled armfuls of blushing yakima cherries
swam with buoyant watermelon belly
full and deep as the entire puget sound.

i curled coastline into my bed
after these longest days,
the windows wide open
trees all lullabying.

Arlene Naganawa

January 5, 2015

South Beacon

A picket fence corrals the house.
Dick and Jane could live here.

I learn to iron handkerchiefs,
to embroider the French knot,

the lazy daisy. To stitch a swallowtail
on a dishcloth, to frost a cake

swept with soft sugar. Melt butter
on broiled toast, triangles of Wonder.

Anna Goren

December 29, 2014

King County Correctional

on the edge

of a travel-sized toothpaste
she files her nails
and looks out on her home



I’ll sleep on a mattress that bends against my spine

she will sleep on a stomach full
of bicycle parts

what do I know
about motherhood

cranks and

Alice Becker

December 22, 2014

Home Made Jazz

Chicago dad curled over
Out of tune keys
Hammering chords
After dinner.

Collecting Mingus,
McPartland, Monk,
“Money Jungle 1962”,
Listening while we slept.

Scratched vinyl now
Stacked in my basement,
The faded cardboard faces
Like you are gone.

I miss you being cool,

Juliet Waller Pruzan

December 15, 2014

Cast Party

My husband would wonder down at us, dancers post-show,
folded onto our kitchen floor.
We have a couch, he’d say and gesture over there.
But we saw the wooden slats and our bodies just went home.

Yen Lam

December 8, 2014


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Nỗi xót xa dầy xéo ngập hồn ta!
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