September 2026 Poetry Feature

This month, we’re pleased to bring you poems by BRIONNE JANAE, GRAY DAVIDSON CARROLL, and WILBERT TURNER III.

Table of Contents

  • Brionne Janae, “You Got to Walk That Lonesome Valley”
  • Gray Davidson Carroll, “Aubade, or Ars Poetica as Men”
  • Wilbert Turner III, “Desperado Despair”

 

Author photos of Brionne Janae, Gray Davidson Carroll, and Wilbert Turner III

From left to right: Brionne Janae, Gray Davidson Carroll, and Wilbert Turner III.

 

YOU GOT TO WALK THAT LONESOME VALLEY
By Brionne Janae
                        ~ after Mississippi John Hurt

            and how did you go through it?
            and did you keep? did you keep your mind?

you got to walk it for yourself

            and on returning what state did you find it in?
            as in what state were you in?
            were you where you left yourself?
            and who was left?
            was anyone left?
            and how sure were you that you could reach them?

September 2026 Poetry Feature
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Six Months After My Bell’s Palsy Diagnosis, I Consider the Meaning of ‘Fallow’ in Emily Dickinson’s Garden

By THERESE GLEASON

Pear tree

Emily Dickinson Museum (house and grounds), Amherst, MA

Half of Emily’s autumnal garden is sunlit at midmorning, but the little apple and pear trees in the orchard down the hill are shrouded in shadow, and I think of my face as equinox: how I woke last April to thorny vines in my neck coiling up my ear canal, with a numb tongue and drooping left lip and eye: a pox, a palsy on my seventh cranial nerve, inflamed and swollen in its bony channel, its roots and delicate capillaries choked off:  Then Space – began to toll, // as all the Heavens were a Bell, / and Being, but an Ear…

Six Months After My Bell’s Palsy Diagnosis, I Consider the Meaning of ‘Fallow’ in Emily Dickinson’s Garden
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Excerpt from What Clever Friends: The Selected Letters of Jane Kenyon and Alice Mattison

By ALICE MATTISON and JANE KENYON
Edited by CHAD WRIGLESWORTH


Introduction by Alice Mattison

Jane Kenyon grew up across the road from a farm in Ann Arbor, Michigan. After she studied poetry with Donald Hall at the university there, they became friends and then married. He was from Connecticut, but had spent childhood summers on his grandparents’ farm in central New Hampshire. In 1975, Jane and Don went to live in that New Hampshire farmhouse.

After seeing a poem by Jane Kenyon, I ordered her first book, From Room to Room, published in 1978 by Alice James Books. At that time the press was in Cambridge, Massachusetts, publishing only New England poets, preferably women. It was a cooperative: the poets ran the publishing house with just one paid employee. Poets figured out policy, worked in the office, saw their books through the process of publication, and chose the next books to be printed.

I lived in New Haven, Connecticut, writing poems—sometimes stories—teaching part-time, looking after three small children. My husband, Edward, was a legal aid lawyer. When my own book of poems was chosen by Alice James in 1979, it was a particular thrill to meet Jane Kenyon. Putting in time at the office, we became friends.

Excerpt from What Clever Friends: The Selected Letters of Jane Kenyon and Alice Mattison
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Places Between: The Many Hauntings in Let All Our Ghosts Depart by Meghana Mysore

By MEGHANA MYSORE
Review by MICHELLE DONAHUE

cover of let all our ghosts depart

A reader needs to look no further than the title of Let All Our Ghosts Depart for a taste of the lyric mix of dark and light that so characterizes Meghana Mysore’s debut short story collection. These are stories full of ghosts—literal and figurative, haunting and loving. Sometimes these apparitions are unwelcome or violent; for example, in the title story, a grandmother’s dead sister possesses her, “shaking the core of her being,” an experience that is “like an insect swimming around in her depths”. Often these ghosts are welcoming and kind; in “Blood and Bone,” a dead father talks with his daughter via FaceTime and worries about her well-being, asking if she’s “sleeping enough” and telling her to “prioritize yourself.” What I perhaps found most impressive about this collection is Mysore’s ability to compellingly and realistically render a range of contradictory possibilities like this on the page. Here she gives us benevolent ghosts and vicious ghosts, delivering stories with unsettled endings that feel both devastating and optimistic. The result is a collection that feels fresh and wild in its approach to themes of belonging, inheritance, immigration, family, and memory.

Places Between: The Many Hauntings in Let All Our Ghosts Depart by Meghana Mysore
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Submission Opportunities at The Common!

Here at The Common, we understand that supporting a diverse exchange of ideas goes hand in hand with making the publishing world more accessible. We strive to make our submission opportunities available to everyone. As we open for fall submissions*, we thought now might be a good time to signal-boost some of our policies and guidelines designed to make this process run smoothly for the widest range of submitters. If you have any questions, please don’t hesitate to get in touch! (And we hope to see you in the queue soon!)

Submission Opportunities at The Common!
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Review: St. Ulphia’s Dead by By Scott Lambridis

By SCOTT LAMBRIDIS
Review by BRITTA STROMEYER

cover

“If you want the truth, you must ask someone else. Someone like me, who’s been here, on this island, all along,” writes author Scott Lambridis in his dizzying and darkly humorous debut novel, St. Ulphia’s Dead. Addictive and deceptive, the novel demands the reader’s full attention—as nothing is quite what it seems.

Review: St. Ulphia’s Dead by By Scott Lambridis
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The Wall Climbers

By AMAYA RANATUNGE

GalleFort

Galle Fort, Sri Lanka

Back home, the salt arrives before the sea. It rides on the evening wind, settles in your pores, and clings to the stone walls of the fort. On some evenings, when the waves are rough enough, the salt-bitter perfume of the sea accompanies a loud orchestra of sloshing and shushing, water lazily kicking the moist green moss on the bottom of the walls. Long before the sea comes into view, you taste it, saltier than the isso vade sold by the old man who pushes his cart through the fort everyday; you hear it, louder than the fretful tourists on the ramparts determined to take the perfect sunset photo for their Instagram; and you most definitely feel it, stickier than that melted Belgian chocolate ice cream from the nearby Gelato, dripping all over you.

The Wall Climbers
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Review: The Fifth Year by Marlen Haushofer

By MARLEN HAUSHOFER
Review by BRIANNA BEEHLERBook cover of The Fifth Year by Marlen Haushofer

When I was a child, I was afraid to go upstairs by myself at my grandparents’ house. At the top of the stairs was a print of Pablo Picasso’s 1937 painting, Weeping Woman’s Head with Handkerchief III, and the sight of the woman’s tears found its way into my dreams at night. I didn’t know the painting’s context and the casual violence against civilians in Guernica that it referred to, but the image of the woman’s suffering would give me a sense of vertigo, and in the night I imagined climbing the stairs only to lose my balance on sight of the woman’s tight grip and upturned face.

Review: The Fifth Year by Marlen Haushofer
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