“my father siphons the dreams / out of my forehead before bed. / He draws out every last drop / & what is left?”

The Arc of a Rocket is Louder

Before Twenty Fifty

“here, too caught up in their fear & old / bones & fear. All writhing knots & / fray.”

“■² opens me up to dine w/ wolves, ■³ is a phlebotomist ■⁴ a carnivorous flower / any further ■’s are ≥ gods”

“our names pierced through the pond’s surface tension / now fortified by the backs of algae.”

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We are so grateful to every poet who shares their work with us—please enjoy perusing the stunning work in our poetry archive.

“the angel spends / his afternoons, ears pressed to the dirt, cataloging their theologies.”

Please join us in congratulating these incredible poets. Winners were selected by Palette’s editors.

“But isn’t it beautiful how I corral / the rifts with / metaphors? How I language / worry with wreaths”