My Broken Tooth
Charles Kell
The night my father died the Winter
Olympics blared from
the floating TV. They skied down
through the closed-captioned snow.
My father looked screwed, a spare
tire under the double bed.
A purple marble like a giant eye
floating above his bed.
I cracked it on glass, he said.
His Ahab tattoo frowned under a dim lamp.
Chalk in a cheek to pump down the shaky jaw.
The drinker's face repeats.
Somewhere in Nagano a neon sign blinks
making the faux fur gleam.
from the book ISHMAEL MASK / Autumn House Press
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There is a sick room, a father (inertia contrasted with the movements on the TV). My influences are Tomaž Šalamun, Kafka, Beckett, and Bernhard. I’m also first drawn toward image and sound. I have no idea what the poem is doing (I’m an aesthete). I’m fascinated with physical spaces—enclosures—and how they simultaneously manifest emotional and psychological spaces. I was the happiest of my life working on Ishmael Mask…

Charles Kell on "My Broken Tooth"
Eduardo Martinez Leyva
"The First Book: Eduardo Martínez-Leyva"

"The best advice I received about publishing was to recognize that submitting your work for publication is a significant achievement in itself. It’s important to be proud of taking this step because it represents a huge milestone in sharing your voice with the world. Don’t let fear hold you back, as it often stems from ego and the worry of how your work will be received. Instead, focus on the courage it takes to put your words out there. Embrace the process and remember that every submission is a valuable opportunity to grow and connect with others through your writing."

viaTHE RUMPUS
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Cover of Carol Moldaw's new book, Go Figure
What Sparks Poetry: Carol Moldaw on Drafts

"In many ways, this draft marks the end of my blind groping and the beginning of the poem proper. Nothing I’d written up to that point had caught my poetic interest linguistically; my thoughts, preoccupations, and perceptions had been floating around without substance or anchor. In this draft though, images began to coalesce, and the lines develop a distinctive voice—the poem’s voice."
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