Articles

I was a youth. That could mean anything. A yearling, lion-colored, rippled hills, or black bristling my lip. When you took the knife, I became very still. Thought and wonder peeled away like burnt bark, raw underneath. A pair of eyes just seeing, and breath, and a pulse– Inside my death the possible permanence of …

I visited the arboretum in Arcadia for a date. A peacock honks as if it knows I should’ve stayed home. The day before I got my shin tattooed with a vase. I always end up with flowers on new work because as a kid my mother would take me to pick up potted, red chrysanthemum …

—Genesis 29:20 And he watered her flock and kissed her mouth, וַיַּ֕שְׁקְ wayashq and וַיִּשַּׁ֥ק wayishaq, binding care with the carnal, their muzzles warm beneath his tending hands, her mouth bright as the nectar of pomegranates. Desideratum is a word for something wanted or needed, whose root means both “to find a lack of” and …

Every morning of my first year, my mother’s father drove over at dawn to bathe me and walk with me among trees, touching my tiny fingers to things as he named them, saying, bark, saying, web, saying, air and grandfather and granddaughter, all to say, Welcome; I have waited so long for you. At a …

God, we spend our whole / lives persevering / long winter stars scalding / us / as if heaven’s a place / real as the corner diner / alight all night / where I enter easily even as a sinner / hungering for eggs / over easy & devour them. / Let’s cover this early …

Or How to Disguise a Carolinian in New York INGREDIENTS 8 (4 ounce) catfish fillets 1 tsp cayenne (make it hot) 1 quart oil (sweated from a road stand 2 tsp pepper shambled & split) 1 pinch of garlic salt 2 cups buttermilk ½ tsp onion powder 2 cups cornmeal, thick as silt 1 dash …

may you know yourself in a world of noise & confusion when voices berate & anglicize remember your rootedness with each stomp like toph shake centuries-old rage off you / begin anew may you know hydration remember your cells are made from the same waters that coarse rivers the same rivers that jade mountains the …

The summer I first remember the salps arriving, I was eleven.  The sea grew thick with them. Overnight, illuminated by ripples of phosphorescence, the tide had pulled and spread the clear bodies along the Long Island coast. Jelly sacks the size of dimes, the waves piled them on the shore. I found them the next …

Dear Readers, I’m so happy you’re here. Creating the first fully online issue of Bellingham Review has been such a pleasure, for a variety of reasons, but mostly because I’m in awe of our lineup of writers featured. This issue showcases a plethora of stunning poems, five deeply moving works of prose, innovative and energetic …

Winner of the 2022 “49th Parallel Award” for Poetry What ails the nation’s lies unseats the sustenant. At least, it tilts halos, allies loss, attunes statues to skeletal white noon, an oilskin title, a tesselate ease I salute. I, the tithe, I the hesitant (no) saint (no) unholy. I, in the nuns’ salon. Thus, they …