Jean L. Kreiling prefers traveling by foot, and has been fortunate to stroll along London streets, Italian cliffsides, and countless American beaches. Her poems have traveled far and wide, most recently to the pages of American Arts Quarterly, The Evansville Review, Measure, Mezzo Cammin, and several anthologies. She is the 2013 winner of the String Poet Prize and a past winner of the Able Muse Write Prize; she has been a finalist for the Frost Farm Prize, the Howard Nemerov Sonnet Award, and the Richard Wilbur Award.
More from The Journal
By Henry Walters
We followed her in, a stray, the fattest & first, the temple cat./ In a niche by the altar she crouches, watches them come: the/ mad parade we’d wanted, this troupe of heretics — the ass,/ alpaca, gyrfalcon — unbroken line of celebrants, creatures ...
By Ksenia Rychtycka
Mother comes to me as I’m making honey cake, / measuring out sugar then whipping eggs. / Never mind that Mother left this earth / eighteen months earlier...
By Rimas Uzgiris
The trolley bus won’t go. / Its reins have fallen from the wires.
By Maryann Corbett
I miss things: swooping, diving, passionate voices/ in several African tongues, so far beyond me/ they might as well have beamed from the constellations.
By Pui Ying Wong
Here’s the river I stepped in more than twice.// I can’t see them but I know the boats/ are going by in the sturdy fog...
By R L Swihart
And now you explore the hidden pockets and come up/ with a City Guide (in English) you picked up in Amsterdam./ Why did I keep that? Where were we going? But she’s/ not there to answer