Category — Miss Nina's Prize

by Paul Hostovsky

Remember this poem? Its simple
rooms? Its window full of trees? The white

gable which you loved about this poem,
how its lone triangle seemed to encompass
all humanity? And the spiky yellow sun

exploding somewhere outside this poem?

Of course you do. In fact you’re reciting it
right now, standing on one foot in a room

of a different poem.

by Paul Hostovsky

It’s easy to love them,
the shapes of those lives,
the little huddled triangles
holding each other up
on the way into the city,
or the ones in the country
leaning only on themselves
and a silo, head in an elbow
on a hill. How beautiful
the detached view, how forgivable
all the little murders, driving by at 70,
looking into the lowered eyes of those dark houses.

by Michael Constantine McConnell

Mother, I’m falling
apart and don’t know
what to do. I’ve turned

a good woman’s love
into ink. You taught

me how to read,
and, now, I am a man
of words. Mother, shrink
me into a seed; rest

me on a delicate
pillow. I need whisky

[Read more →]

by Persis M. Karim

Are the deep breaths
you’ve held in
when you knew
better than
to unleash
your tongue

Say it like it is

and the body can
no longer—

contain them.

From time to time, we like to recognize writers whose submissions reflect their commitment to the art and craft of writing. What does this mean? It means they take their work seriously - and so do we.

At this time we would like to recognize:

• Paul Hostovsky
• Persis M. Karim
• Michael Constantine McConnell

We are very grateful that you chose to submit your writings to our website.

Sincerely,
The Staff and Volunteers at
Getting Something Read