 Share
|
Email
Print
|
Hear the author read this poem (in RealAudio)
There is a barrier
that locks me in.
I must endure this sleep
until what seals me off
is burnt, frozen, exposed
to axe-blow, erosion, rain,
noon, twilight, starlight:
then I will flower,
everything in me—
triple-folded leaf
of the female organ
leaf-shoot of the male,
whorled together
like petals in bloom—
will be explained
as if by a voice:
now I must pass
unknown to myself
through the belly and gut
of the northbound sparrow.
Doin' It in the Park: No Gatorade (Excerpt)
The Visual Clichés of Instagram
Synthetic Biology
David H. Freedman on smartphone apps and the perfected self, Mark Bowden on being in the dumb kids' class, James Parker on Glenn Beck, Isaac Chotiner on P. G. Wodehouse, and more
Browse back issues of The Atlantic that have appeared on the Web. From September 1995 to the present, the archive is essentially complete, with the exception of a few articles, the online rights to which are held exclusively by the authors.
See All Back Issues: September 1995
Marvin Kalb Proud to Defend Arnaud De Borchgrave
What the Web Knows About the Canadian Foot-Mailing Suspect
The 11 Days Zuckerberg Spent as One of the 40 Richest Humans
What Critics Get Wrong About Creative Cities
Great Moments in the History of Boondoggles
The Pseudo-Suburbanist's Dilemma
Join the Discussion
After you comment, click Post. If you’re not already logged in you will be asked to log in or register. blog comments powered by Disqus