Above Boston From the air you could see everything—my neighborhood, probably my house. The T, the flat expanse of Stop and Shop, the new condos in what was the Catholic Church. MIT’s round dome; long shadows on the beaches of Revere. The...
Author - Jill McDonough
Three Poems By Jill McDonough
The Serious Downer I tell Josey when she dies I am going to eat her face before I call the cops. They’ll be on their way to pick up her dead body and I won’t be able to stop, finally able to bite adorable chunks of her perfect cheeks, gnaw on the...
. . . remembering we are dying helps me do a better job.
Portfolio Interview with Jill McDonough, by Christine Mallon Scoundrel Time: The spirit of play in “Spelling ‘Prostitutes’” is tinged with darkness that breaks through the lines of the poem, just as the dark past breaks in upon small moments...
Portfolio: Six Poems by Jill McDonough
Spelling “Prostitutes” I volunteer at a juvie, call it kid jail. We play a homemade Boggle, make all the words we can, make Mad-Lib things with them like this: lip split from slipping in shit, I sit and sip spilt spit. We write Fast Poems...