Harriet: News & Community

There we all were, there in that drafty room, surrounded by the song and sanctuary of the words. Enveloped by bodies listening to each reader sing and spirit each other...

How do we—I’m talking to us, finally, Deaf poets—how do we find relevance in much of poetics, which denotatively pursues musicality and claims to puncture and perforate so-called silence?

Thank you for reading. Thank you for writing. Most importantly, thank you for being here with poetry and inside a fleeting moment of intimacy we will one day strive to...

My parents, both retired South Asian medical professionals, always wanted me to become an anesthesiologist someday. “Good pay, no night calls—and most of the time, your patients are unconscious,” they...

I didn’t learn to read until third grade, but I had been learning poetry my whole life.

I’m writing this last blog post while looking out the window at my dad’s summer garden, thinking about all the animals and insects and leafy things making things work outside.

Here in Alabama, it’s getting hot enough to shout, and all the blooms are blooming in their exuberant way. Poems, too, are blooming.

Editorial work is people work, and while that might not be the most poetic statement, it certainly embodies a poetic sensibility and duty to our relationships.

Here’s to the heart-work that poetry can continue to do for all of us, always.