A book-length poem about how an American Indian writer can’t bring himself to write about nature, but is forced to reckon with colonial-white stereotypes, manifest destiny, and his own identity as an young, queer, urban-dwelling poet. A Best Book of the Year at BuzzFeed, Interview, and more. Nature Poem follows Teebs—a young, queer, American Indian (or NDN) poet—who can’t bring himself to write a nature poem. For the reservation-born, urban-dwelling hipster, the exercise feels stereotypical, reductive, and boring. He hates nature. He prefers city lights to the night sky. He’d slap a tree across the face. He’d rather write a mountain of hashtag punchlines about death and give head in a pizza-parlor bathroom; he’d rather write odes to Aretha Franklin and Hole. While he’s adamant—bratty, even—about his distaste for the word “natural,” over the course of the book we see him confronting the assimilationist, historical, colonial-white ideas that collude NDN people with nature. The closer his people were identified with the “natural world,” he figures, the easier it was to mow them down like the underbrush. But Teebs gradually learns how to interpret constellations through his own lens, along with human nature, sexuality, language, music, and Twitter. Even while he reckons with manifest destiny and genocide and centuries of disenfranchisement, he learns how to have faith in his own voice.

An NPR Best Book of the Year From 2018 Whiting Award winner Tommy Pico, Junk is a book-length break-up poem that explores the experience of loss and erasure, both personal and cultural. The third book in Tommy Pico’s Teebs trilogy, Junk is a breakup poem in couplets: ice floe and hot lava, a tribute to Janet Jackson and nacho cheese. In the static that follows the loss of a job or an apartment or a boyfriend, what can you grab onto for orientation? The narrator wonders what happens to the sense of self when the illusion of security has been stripped away. And for an indigenous person, how do these lost markers of identity echo larger cultural losses and erasures in a changing political landscape? In part taking its cue from A.R. Ammons’s Garbage, Teebs names this liminal space “Junk,” in the sense that a junk shop is full of old things waiting for their next use; different items that collectively become indistinct. But can there be a comfort outside the anxiety of utility? An appreciation of “being” for the sake of being? And will there be Chili Cheese Fritos?

A Finalist for the Kingsley Tufts Award for Poetry A New York Times Notable Book of the Year From the Winner of the Whiting Award, an American Book Award, and finalist for a Lambda, Tommy Pico's Feed is the final book in the Teebs Cycle. Feed is the fourth book in the Teebs tetralogy. It's an epistolary recipe for the main character, a poem of nourishment, and a jaunty walk through New York's High Line park, with the lines, stanzas, paragraphs, dialogue, and registers approximating the park's cultivated gardens of wildness. Among its questions, Feed asks what's the difference between being alone and being lonely? Can you ever really be friends with an ex? How do you make perfect mac & cheese? Feed is an ode of reconciliation to the wild inconsistencies of a northeast spring, a frustrating season of back-and-forth, of thaw and blizzard, but with a faith that even amidst the mess, it knows where it's going.

Composed as a long text message, this poem asks what happens to a modern, queer indigenous person a few generations after his ancestors were alienated from their language, their religion, and their history.

Issue #32 of OCHO: A Journal of Queer Arts, featuring art by Kim Leutwyler, Zachari Logan, Bobby Lucy, Christopher Sousa, and Truong Tran; and poetry by Derrick Austin, Linda Benninghoff, Steven Cordova, Jim Elledge, Carlton Fisher, Jane Eaton Hamilton, Alyse Knorr, Chip Livingston, M. Mack, Tommy Pico, and Valerie Wetlaufer.

From the website: It is the belief of all of us here at Tin House that art is our resistance and our voice. Now more than ever we want to hear what story can tell us. We want to listen to the unspoken conversation between a woman and her attacker in a new story by Jo Ann Beard, which we feel fortunate to publish. We want to hear the exchange between the earth and a UFO and the dialogue between a man and his own thoughts, when Michael Andreasen speaks to us from the future. We want Chaim ben Avram to talk to us in love poems, somewhere in the backyard of America. We want to talk to you. We hope these pages give you solace, and most importantly: We hope you talk back.