
I haven’t talked to my father for thirty years, and this news doesn’t change anything (it’s impossible to talk through three decades of life; the silence is too full – (though I should preface this by noting he has tried to talk to me during this time (very recently, in fact, for obvious reasons (via the usual channels on social media et cetera (which channels, incidentally, were a big part of why I broke off contact in the first place (in that they facilitated his transgression (though there was more to it than that, of course (the ‘more than that’

There’s about seven inches of grated parmesan piled onto a side plate. The waiter said Say when, and the guy never said when. Just watched the waiter shave more and more of the block until finally they say, “Sorry sir, that’s the rind.” And the guy says, “That’s good then, yeah.” “So I guess you like parm,” I say. He says, “It’s okay.” I want to push, but he starts telling me how he took his niece to her first baseball game. About getting ice cream in a plastic hat. Tomorrow he will do some weedwacking. Will weedwack his neighbor’s

The theme for this list is CONCENTRIC MACROSCOPE, which is the title of my latest book. Concentric Macroscope (Crop Circle Press, 2026) contains several themes itself, and running ideas. It also contains everything I read, watched, heard, and experienced from 2021 to 2023 when I was writing it, and likely also everything before that. Perhaps even after? Such is a macroscopic vision. Macroscopic means not microscopic. That is, you can see it. It is large scale, the stuff of the naked eye—or one big eye, or all of our eyes. I was thinking about concentric circles as one big eye,

The news site blurred the photo. A two-year-old refugee, drowned and washed ashore. At his desk, the new dad clicked to see the picture. He was feeling bigger things than ever and wanted to press the corners of his empathy. After work that day, his wife and baby were a cozy little unit on the couch. He knew that cozy could be confining, that a little unit has walls. The couch was by the front door, making for a sitcomish “Honey, I’m home” moment when he walked in. The baby gave him a gummy grin. His first. That smile of

Catastrophe—often in the form of an accident, illness, or injury—is either witnessed or implied throughout the stories of Nicholas Claro’s debut collection, This Is Where You Are (Roadside Press, 2025). His characters tend to sound even keel, despite it all. Claro’s dialogue, in its spare and restrained expressions, strikes a delicate balance that reveals how traumatic events ripple through our daily conversations and actions. Instead of slipping into melodrama, his characters seem to wonder what they are supposed to say to each other in the wake of grief or violence, what they are supposed to eat. I found myself lingering

I had been told not to work night blues. There were about thirteen party boats lined up in Belmar then, and I loved every one of them. I had spent the summer with Garafano, scrubbing boats in port until the decks came clean and the blood smell lifted. The other captains had seen enough. I could get on anywhere. That was the rule. The other rule was don’t work night blues. So I worked night blues. I pulled in with my yellow VW Bug, fresh off the lot, paint too bright for the dock. The guys noticed. They notice everything.

$25 | Perfect bound | 72 pages
Paperback | Die-cut matte cover | 7×7″
Mike Topp’s poems defy categorization. That’s why they are beloved by seamstresses, pathologists, blackmailers and art collectors.
–Sparrow