Audio Feature: Rebekah Wolman (Shō No. 5)
as abecedarian. Beehive. Corner cabinet, desk / detritus. Earthshine. Faultline. As gristle and gall.
submissions ARE OPEN
Established in 2002, revived in 2023
as abecedarian. Beehive. Corner cabinet, desk / detritus. Earthshine. Faultline. As gristle and gall.
It’s true—the scene is charged / with a heat surpassing what I endured to arrive here.
INTERVIEW A Conversation with Arah Ko Shō intern Claire Zhou interviews Shō contributor Arah Ko, whose poems “Magpie 까치” and “Fiddleback” appear in Shō No. 4. Arah is the author of Brine Orchid (YesYes Books 2025) and the chapbook Animal Logic (Bull City Press 2026). Claire Zhou Hi Arah! I’ve read both of your poems …
“This poem is one of many calls and/or responses to the poet Megan Merchant. Our co-authored collection A Slow Indwelling comes out Fall 2024 from Harbor Editions and deals with a father and mother wrestling through cultural violence, the fragility of childhood, the preciousness of a parents love, and the beauty and pain expressed through the natural world.”
This poem is part of a larger epistolary exchange, "A Slow Indwelling", with Luke Johnson, and will be published this fall with Harbor Editions.
I’m more broken than I’ve ever been. / This shell of a body, emptied / and longing.
These trees war scalded from the mountains, burnt stubble, replanted when my father was a child, now tall again.
The last night with my mother, I blinded like a snake in the blue, /
shed the skin of daughter and switched roles
i am here with you by the premade sushi. / by the out-of-season strawberries. / by the tofu.
we stumble through a forest / of awkward silences, careful not to touch // the brambles.
I can think of a few things more entrenched, / like language, syllables strung together // in a lilt
INTERVIEW A Conversation with Nathan Xavier Osorio Shō intern Claire Zhou interviews Shō contributor Nathan Xavier Osorio, whose poems “How to Cook a Wolf,” “Empty Stadiums,” and “Come, Little Hunger” appear in Shō No. 4. Nathan’s debut collection of poetry, Querida, won the 2024 Agnes Lynch Starrett Poetry Prize, selected by Shara McCallum. Claire Zhou …
After all, what way is there to leave / a dance floor other than wet // & shaking under a mass of pleading / legs all huddled into a single moving // sacrifice—swaying tall & drowning / in bass?
The days have been heavy lately, /
an albatross on each shoulder
My mother fell in love with the way you cracked / into an urchin.
Shō No. 5 (Summer 2024)View issue Nyree AbrahamianAmy AshCorey BaronAileen BassisDaniel BrennanCatherine BroadwallCortney Lamar CharlestonAmanda ChiadoGrant ClauserDorsey CraftP. Scott CunninghamAllison Field BellMckendy Fils-AiméNora GuptaElontra N. HallJose Hernandez Diaz Chiagoziem JideoforSophie JohnsonRichard JordanKuhu JoshiSaba KeramatiJasmine KhaliqKarla Myn KhineMonica KimSusan L. LearyCasandra LópezClint MargraveMira Mason-ReaderJohn MoessnerSati MookherjeeDan MurphyJose Oseguera Kate PyontekJessica Nirvana RamAkira RitosSara SantistevanShane SchickHannah SmithNick …
I smelled like churned earth, breasts bouldered and leaked / through my support bra into my shirt / for days after his deathbirth.
Mom, since we stopped / speaking, I've been searching / for the first word / you gave me.
My father came to this country / through the womb. My mother, too. // Their mothers and their fathers, too. / But somewhere behind them: a crossing.
Today, my heart is working / remotely. I watch it thump / and thrum reliably behind / the blur of a computer screen.
i’m drinking coffee and reading an essay / by Tarantino breaking down Scorsese’s decision to / cast Harvey Keitel as the pimp in Taxi Driver
The sirens—remembering—often sing to me / of my own deathwish.
how else would i describe it? / somewhere below all of us // i paced the dirt floor of a deep / and airless pit, digging and uncovering // only daylilies tight and green