Our fist issue of Volume 24—CPR Vol. 24, Issue 1—features poems about loss, memory, the past, and the present—what persists and returns to us
Sometimes when I go to get him he’s asleep, among the papered walls of azure and emerald hot-air balloons. His wild engines still silent,
Two cars, parked side by side, tick as they cool: the easy, summer banter of metals. Woods consider creaking and splintering wrenching—even devastating—soul-talk. While
Little brown toad, little knotted fist in the shade of the bean row, forgive me for disrupting whatever toads do on hot August afternoons