Established in 2002, revived in 2023
Listen to Danielle Shandiin Emerson read “Sometimes, she listened to his stories.” from Shō No. 4 (Winter 2023/24). We nominated this poem for a Pushcart Prize. “I wrote this as a sort of release from a lot of complex father and mental health related emotions. It’s written in third person to sort of distance myself, while …
When I say moon, I recall brown calves lowing / at night, sheltered under their mothers' calm grace / in star-studded pastures.
We’re all something else / to someone else. Maybe he became better, a person / who hated sharing a body with the person he used to be.
the turkeys arrive while I’m deciphering / the if this, then that of taxes.
One / becomes my aunt. Enter AUNT in wide / angle shots. Flickers form infinite / possibilities cast on that screen.
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 …
These trees war scalded from the mountains, burnt stubble, replanted when my father was a child, now tall again.
i am here with you by the premade sushi. / by the out-of-season strawberries. / by the tofu.
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 …
My mother fell in love with the way you cracked / into an urchin.
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.
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
