Donika Kelly

Jun 1, 2024 | 3quarksdaily.com | Donika Kelly |Jim Culleny

The moon rose over the bay. I had a lot of feelingI am taken with the hot animal of my skin, grateful to swing my limbsand have them move as I intend, though my knee, though my shoulder, though something is torn or tearing. Today, a dozen squid, deadon the harbor beach: one mostly buried, one with skin empty as a shell and hollowfeeling, and, though the tentacles look soft, I do not touch them. I imagine they were startled to find themselves in the sun.

Apr 6, 2024 | poets.org | Donika Kelly |Liza Katz Duncan |Arthur Sze

Skip to main contentFind and share the perfect poems. late spring wind sounds an ocean through new leaves. later the same wind sounds a tide. later still the dry sound of applause: leaves chapped falling, an ending. this is a process. the ocean leaping out of ocean should be enough. the wind pushing the water out of itself;the water catching the lightshould be enough. I think this on the deck of one boatthen another. I think this in the Salish, thought it in Stellwagenin the Pacific.

Feb 6, 2024 | 3quarksdaily.com | Donika Kelly |Jim Culleny

The moon rose over the bay. I had a lot of feelingsI am taken with the hot animal of my skin, grateful to swing my limbsand have them move as I intend, though my knee, though my shoulder, though something is torn or tearing. Today, a dozen squid, deadon the harbor beach: one mostly buried, one with skin empty as a shell and hollowfeeling, and, though the tentacles look soft, I do not touch them. I imagine they were startled to find themselves in the sun.

Nov 10, 2023 | poets.org | Donika Kelly |Geoffrey O'Brien |Rachel Levitsky

This is a love poem. It has no business. It happens in that anyway world Where the bodies are by now decidedTo get all the way up, accompaniedBy changes in temperature and lightWelcome and unwelcome both,Lie down, get up, go prone again, Get nowhere in time. I won’tReduce to a single preposition A relation to the one person about it Like grass.

Oct 29, 2023 | themarginalian.org | Maria Popova |Donika Kelly

For all the enchantment the color blue has cast upon humanity, no animal has fallen under its spell more hopelessly than the bowerbird, whose very survival hinges on blue.