Poetry

maybe we love them because they can hurt us.

In Knossos there was no way to write love

Nearly 1,000 poems poured in this year for America’s annual Foley Poetry Contest from writers of all ages.

I know not to tell you that one day you’ll be better, so instead I tell you this:

Who coaxed him off my porch? The wind

I know that kind, invisible hand; I know that touch.