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Christina Daub

@christinadaub.bsky.social
748 followers 518 following 355 posts

Poet Co-editor of the forthcoming poetry anthology, Turning Poetry into Food: A Collection of Poetry X Hunger poems Co-founded The Plum Review Taught poetry at George Washington U. Translates poetry from Spanish & German

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Reposted by Christina Daub
Tom Snarsky @tomsnarsky.bsky.social · 29/09/2026
Lorine Niedecker
We are what the seas
have made us

longingly immense

the very veery
on the fence
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Christina Daub @christinadaub.bsky.social · 28/09/2026
gone firefly “Old Lamp” by Clare Jones in Poetry vol 229, no. 1 #poetry #smallpoemsunday @tomsnarsky.bsky.social
OLD LAMP

This world, old lamp, flickers.
No tinkerer, I let it alone. I, 
who made a little sun, 
once, or would have. Marred, 
yet unmistakable, the wick 
blows away black, gone firefly.
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Christina Daub @christinadaub.bsky.social · 26/09/2026
Join the poets these last few days of Hunger Action Month! We’re almost halfway to our goal! mdfoodbank.funraise.org/fundraiser/h... #poetry #poetryxhunger #turningpoetryintofood @mdfoodbank.bsky.social
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Christina Daub @christinadaub.bsky.social · 21/09/2026
“The ur question, always doubt.” The Poetry by Paula Meehan #smallpoemsunday @tomsnarsky.bsky.social #poetry #Ireland
The Poetry
Was it beaten into me or out 
of me? The ur question, always doubt.

Never certainty, never sure the song 
is on the right track. I've got it wrong

só often, failure is a true friend

of my long night's journey into day.
My gibbering ghosts must have their say:

Mother, Teacher, Lost Child, will not cease until dawn breaks through in brutal peace.

Paula Meehan from her pamphlet, “Ten Poems from Ireland,” Candlewick Press, 2016.
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Christina Daub @christinadaub.bsky.social · 14/09/2026
An ache of pine Carolyn Forché #poetry #smallpoemsunday @tomsnarsky.bsky.social
WHAT COMES
to speak is not yet to have spoken 
the not-yet of a white realm of nothing left neither for itself nor another
a no-longer already there, along with the arrival of what has been 
light and the reverse of light
terror as walking blind along the breaking sea, body in whom I lived 
the not-yet of death darkening what it briefly illuminates 
an unknown place as between languages 
back and forth, breath to breath as a calm
in the surround rises, fireflies in lindens, an ache of pine 
you have yourself within you
yourself, you have her, and there is nothing that cannot be seen
open then to the coming of what comes

From her collection, In the Lateness of the World, and reprinted in Otherwhere, New & Selected Poems, 1976-2026, Scribner
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Christina Daub @christinadaub.bsky.social · 12/09/2026
Poetry is a life cherishing force. For poems are not words, after all, but fires for the cold, ropes let down to the lost, something as necessary as bread in the pockets of the hungry. ~Mary Oliver, A Poetry Handbook #poetry #hunger #endhunger
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Christina Daub @christinadaub.bsky.social · 11/09/2026
Hunger Action Month Poetry and Prose reading at @thewriterscenter.bsky.social in person and livestreamed here youtube.com/live/FzOLd6o... raising money for Maryland Food Bank. Join us to #endhunger #hunger #poetry Saturday, Sept 12 at 2pm Donate via writer.org
Hunger Action Month Reading
Raising money for Maryland Food Bank
Sept 12, 2pm
at The Writer’s Center
and live-streamed at https://youtube.com/live/FzOLd6oYksA
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Reposted by Christina Daub
Magedah Shabo @magedah.bsky.social · 06/09/2026
Philip Larkin for #SmallPoemSunday @tomsnarsky.bsky.social
POETRY FOUNDATION

The Mower
BY PHILIP LARKIN

The mower stalled, twice; kneeling, I found
A hedgehog jammed up against the blades,
Killed. It had been in the long grass.

I had seen it before, and even fed it, once.
Now I had mauled its unobtrusive world
Unmendably. Burial was no help:

Next morning I got up and it did not.
The first day after a death, the new absence
Is always the same; we should be careful

Of each other, we should be kind
While there is still time.
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Christina Daub @christinadaub.bsky.social · 06/09/2026
You can let it off its leash… Poem by Doug Anderson #smallpoemsunday @tomsnarsky.bsky.social
THE HARD, HARD THING
You don't get over it in spite 
of wonderpill, don't get 
to lay your burden down.
But you can find a place for it 
beside a river, in a flowering field.
You can let it off its leash 
where it's not as like to bite 
another's hurt, but wander, 
drink deep, or sleep in the sun, 
head resting on your shoulder.

by Doug Anderson
from his book Horse Medicine
Barrow Street Press, 2018
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Christina Daub @christinadaub.bsky.social · 04/09/2026
Coming this fall a groundbreaking anthology. @poetryxhunger.bsky.social #hunger #poetry
Poetry is feeding the hungry.

Follow
Poetry_X_Hunger & 
Turning Poetry into Food
on Instagram 
to find out how.
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Christina Daub @christinadaub.bsky.social · 02/09/2026
We have lost one of the greats. Wendell Berry. 1934-2026. #poetry
Black-and-white photo of the poet Wendell Berry, standing in front of a body of water. The Peace of Wild Things by Wendell Berry

When despair for the world grows in me 
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children's lives may be, 
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things 
who do not tax their lives with forethought 
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars waiting with their light. For a time 
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

from Openings: Poems (1968)
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Christina Daub @christinadaub.bsky.social · 30/08/2026
What is silence’s only word? Gifts by @leepottspoet.bsky.social in the new anthology, Lim[i]nal from @tinywrenlit.bsky.social edited by @jenniferabrowne.bsky.social and Dana Knott #smallpoemsunday @tomsnarsky.bsky.social
Gifts

You live beside the ghost
of an ocean. An ocean no longer 
able to pursue all its endless acts 
of erasure. At high tide, 
the silence breaks against your door
to offer you its only word.

Will you cast a line and bring 
up a gift I can take with me?
Gently. Gently. Fragile mouths 
tear easily from the hook 
and what you brought out 
might escape back to the depths.
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Christina Daub @christinadaub.bsky.social · 23/08/2026
…under the peeper peep, the cricket crick, / the katydid did… #poetry by Brooks Haxton in The Plum Review #smallpoemsunday @tomsnarsky.bsky.social
At the Forgetful River

Past paperwhites on a dark sill backlit 
by the moon and rags of morning glory 
wrung out at the stoop rail, past white roses 
by an unhinged gate and down
where the river under the blue pines trailed 
a moon shape in the tea-brown water, 
Orfeo went alone, while the river flowed on under the peeper peep, the cricket crick, 
the katydid did, every triller behind him trilling one-way into tomorrow—me me me me me.

by Brooks Haxton
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Christina Daub @christinadaub.bsky.social · 21/08/2026
Join us this Sunday in Baltimore! #poetry and #fiction on the power of love— @wwph.bsky.social #Baltimore
Washington Writers Publishing House invites you to a reading and workshop at the Ivy Bookshop in Baltimore this Sunday evening at 7 pm. This is a celebration of the anthology, Capital Love, with readings by S. Shaw, Barbara Westwood Diehl, Laura Shovan, Christina Daub, and Caroline Bock. The workshop will be led by Tonee Mae Roll. Free and followed by an open mic.
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Christina Daub @christinadaub.bsky.social · 09/08/2026
“yes, yes” #poetry by Elise M Powers
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Christina Daub @christinadaub.bsky.social · 09/08/2026
“Searching to earth the light…” by John O’Donohue #poetry #smallpoemsunday @tomsnarsky.bsky.social
ELEMENTAL

Is the word the work
Of someone who tills the blue field, 
Unearths its dark plenitude
For the tight seed to release its thought
Into the ferment of clay, 
Searching to earth the light
And come to voice in a word of grain 
That can sing free in the breeze, 
Bathe in the yellow well of the sun, 
Avoid the attack of the bird, 
And endure the red cell of the oven 
Until memory leavens in the gift of bread?

by John O’Donohue
from his collection: Conamara Blues
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Christina Daub @christinadaub.bsky.social · 26/07/2026
The Past by Stephen Dunn from The Insistence of Beauty for #smallpoemsunday @tomsnarsky.bsky.social #poetry
The Past 

Herrings begin to glow just after they die, never while alive. When I read this 
I wanted to sit for a long time in the dark. 
Nothing in nature is a metaphor.
Everything is. I thought both thoughts.
And knew inexactly why I felt sad.
Herrings dead and aglow—
I should have been properly amazed, 
the way anyone looking at a star would be, realizing it was years away, untouchable. 
Yet there it is, shining.

by Stephen Dunn
from The Insistence of Beauty
W.W. Norton, 2004
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Christina Daub @christinadaub.bsky.social · 20/07/2026
The Red Wheelbarrow so much depends upon a red wheel barrow glazed with rain water beside the white chickens ~William Carlos Williams #poetry #smallpoemsunday @tomsnarsky.bsky.social
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Christina Daub @christinadaub.bsky.social · 15/07/2026
Always, Deborah. #poetry
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Christina Daub @christinadaub.bsky.social · 15/07/2026
Beautiful, @susanlleary.bsky.social #poetry
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Christina Daub @christinadaub.bsky.social · 15/07/2026
Humbled & grateful to have read last night at one of America’s oldest free libraries, the Enoch Pratt Free Library hosted by the editor, Emily Holland of the oldest continuously published poetry-only journal in America, Poet Lore with finalists: Nnenna Aduaka, Christina Burgoyn & Carol Buell.
Post reading happiness in The Poe Room. Answering a lot of questions! L to R: poets Emily Holland, Nnenna Aduaka, Christina Borgoyn, Carol Buell, & Christina Daub
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Christina Daub @christinadaub.bsky.social · 14/07/2026
Honored to be reading my poem which won the 2026 at Enoch Pratt Library Prize, judged by Poet Lore Tuesday July 14, 6:30 PM. This will also be live streamed on YouTube at www.youtube.com/watch?v=yIIh... #poetry #Baltimore
Partial image of the Table of Contents in the current issue of Poet Lore featuring the title of my poem, “At Calvert Cliffs.”Poster for the Enoch Pratt Poetry Prize reading on July 14 at 6:30 PM at the Enoch Pratt Free Library on Cathedral Avenue in Baltimore.
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Christina Daub @christinadaub.bsky.social · 29/06/2026
Capital Love fest ruled today @thewriterscenter.bsky.social Here’s a poem by Jason Gebhardt from @wwph.bsky.social #poetry for #smallpoemsunday @tomsnarsky.bsky.social
DESCRIPTION OF A LOVE SONNET

Of all the love sonnets I've written 
the whole Arabian Nights of them 
the one thousand and second is unspeakable having finally captured the shimmering blue 
of the peacock's feathers the true tenderness of an infant's grip my heart's entire holdings 
so perfect it has no use for end rhyme 
or pentameter l'd be summarily executed merely for reciting it but that's O.K.
when I listen close on the quietest nights     silence 
broken by a car's passing the branch scrape against the window breath these shadow lines that you are permitted to hear will suffice 
to say have loved all that could be

by Jason Gebhardt from the anthology, Capital Love, WWPH, 2026
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Christina Daub @christinadaub.bsky.social · 25/06/2026
Hunger Leadership Awards from the Congressional Hunger Center went to Chef Carla Hall, along with awardees Nancy Dalton, Tanner Roark, Chris Bernard & Alexis Bylander. Reps Bonamici and Fitzpatrick were also honored. Exciting to see all the interns fighting to end #hunger @poetryxhunger.bsky.social
Panel of hunger leadership awardees: Alexis Bylander, Chris Bernard, Tanner Roark and  Nancy Dalton.Some of the many Interns working to end hunger at last night’s Congressional Hunger Center’s leadership awards ceremony.
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Christina Daub @christinadaub.bsky.social · 23/06/2026
🩷@wwph.bsky.social🩷 Check it out!
BIG celebration of the new anthology titled CAPITAL LOVE at the Writer’s Center in Bethesda, Maryland this Sunday from 10 AM to 6 PM.
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Christina Daub @christinadaub.bsky.social · 18/06/2026
…it wears me… “Picture of a Soul” by Elizabeth Spires #poetry ~from her book “A Memory of the Future.”
Picture of a Soul

A shirt I was born in.
I wear it. Or it wears me.
White, of course.

A loose fit.
Growing as I grow
 but slowly going dull.

It must be washed once, 
twice, three times, 
then hung to dry.

There, can you see it?
Hanging high 
on the hill.

Waving its arms 
in the wind. Beckoning.
Sun shining through.

by Elizabeth Spires
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Christina Daub @christinadaub.bsky.social · 09/06/2026
#nonprofit #poetry #creativewriting
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Christina Daub @christinadaub.bsky.social · 05/06/2026
Thrilled to have a poem in this collection of “those who give power to Love!” Stay tuned for the readings and related events happening this summer.
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Christina Daub @christinadaub.bsky.social · 27/04/2026
Another Wendell Berry gem. #poetry #smallpoemsunday @tomsnarsky.bsky.social
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Christina Daub @christinadaub.bsky.social · 23/04/2026
“A debut of startling promise, specific pleasure, and honest love.” #poetry of @jaiofearth.bsky.social Review by @stevenleyva.bsky.social
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Christina Daub @christinadaub.bsky.social · 22/04/2026
Gratitude! I won the Enoch Pratt Poetry Prize! My poem was chosen by the editor of Poet Lore and will be in their Winter/Spring issue. #poetry #poetrycommunity Thanks for the nudge to submit, @kelliagodon.bsky.social
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Christina Daub @christinadaub.bsky.social · 19/04/2026
For every bullet, a redwood. by Kelly Grace Thomas #smallpoemsunday @tomsnarsky.bsky.social #poetry
Soft Discipline

Most days, I'm dumbstruck
by what humanity is capable of: 
every miracle and massacre.
For every bullet, a redwood.
For every salted grief, a new joy 
is born. It is a soft discipline, 
trying to love this world—
even when it breaks your heart.
Even when it breaks.

~Kelly Grace Thomas
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Christina Daub @christinadaub.bsky.social · 12/04/2026
Say goodnight to every part of my anatomy from “Insomnia” by @greggsha.bsky.social from his book Speaking in Italics, Souvenir Street Books, 2026 @danvera.com #smallpoemsunday #poetry @tomsnarsky.bsky.social
Insomnia

In bed, at night, on crisp, patterned sheets, 
I dream of sleep. Eyes wide open, body tense as a wire. I count and recount all the sheep 
in the yard. Say goodnight to every part 
of my anatomy that I can name. I recall 
the events of the day, swallow them as if 
they were some kind of narcotic, sleeping

potion. Snippets of conversation play over 
in my head; edited, polished, grammatically correct. But the words are no lullaby, only manage to keep sleep at bay. As a last-ditch effort, I try to fool sleep. Eyeballs rolled 
up, rapidly moving behind eyelids that 
snap open like window shades.
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Christina Daub @christinadaub.bsky.social · 05/04/2026
“mostly rejoicing” Messenger by Mary Oliver #poetry
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Christina Daub @christinadaub.bsky.social · 04/04/2026
Wonderful! Many thanks to @shopoetryjournal.bsky.social editors @domkeykong.bsky.social & @johnnycordova.bsky.social Great to meet you both at AWP! #poetry
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Christina Daub @christinadaub.bsky.social · 01/04/2026
Toward a future garden… #poetry by Tina Chang
Spring by Tina Chang 

I said I was the vessel. 

I said it to the sun. 

I mentioned it to the snow

which made an appearance

last night, heavy and sorrowful

but fleeting. It stayed

long enough for me to dream 

about it, long enough

for my footprint to leave

a legacy in frost as I walked

toward a future garden.
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Christina Daub @christinadaub.bsky.social · 29/03/2026
With poets Nancy Naomi Carlson and Mojdeh Bahar after Mojdeh's extraordinary reading of her lyrical translations of Jila Mossaed's The Dusk of Exile: Poems of Longing and Light.
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Christina Daub @christinadaub.bsky.social · 28/03/2026
This will be a great reading especially because Burgi will be reading from her new collection, White Door from Carbonation press.
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Christina Daub @christinadaub.bsky.social · 28/03/2026
“Did you know nothing dies?” from @kelliagodon.bsky.social beautiful new book, Accidental Devotions #poetry @coppercanyonpress.bsky.social
Everything Is Equal When You're Distorted by the Afterlife

When M told a poet, You are young and      nothing is sacred, 
we watched the smallest bloom on our seaside roses wilt./

It was a certain evening where nothing was happening.
It was a certain evening where strangers were building/

wildflower museums. We are old and everything is/sacred —the fireweed is thigh high and a friend is/

dying. Or the sunflowers are. All things echo with loss.
Everything is equal when you're devoted

to the afterlife. Did you know that nothing dies? is what/ my nephew told me, holding a dead moth he found

on a shelf in his room. He is young and everything is/ sacred. When he sees one of his chickens

has been killed by a weasel, he doesn't tell his mom because he hates to see the glitter of pain in her eyes.

There's a sweetness in the dying sunflowers. Promise/ me you won't tell my mom about the moth, it's part of her

name. When I ask him what he means he says, Mother.
She is more than powdered wings—a woman and son/ 

walking into the garden, her trust of blossoms, their/ dislike of fences, how everything in his eyes still blooms.

by Kelli Russell Agodon
From her book, Accidental Devotions, Copper Canyon Press, 2026.

This poem is written in couplets, but it was impossible to re-create exactly the line breaks due to the formatting here. I was not also able to indent to show a carryover line. Apologies.
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Reposted by Christina Daub
MomsRising @momsrising.org · 26/03/2026
We hear about SNAP cuts and food affordability, how rollbacks are hurting families and state budgets, and simple steps you can take to push Congress to restore benefits w/ @fracposts.bsky.social. Watch: www.youtube.com/watch?v=i_HL1eyAcwI
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Christina Daub @christinadaub.bsky.social · 27/03/2026
Always happy to support @poetryxhunger and @feedthechildrenorg.bsky.social The power of poetry and how it raises both awareness and money to #endhunger fills me with gratitude every time. Thanks to all the poets who gave their poems and opened their wallets to fight #hunger.
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Reposted by Christina Daub
Poetry X Hunger @poetryxhunger.bsky.social · 18/03/2026
Thanks to the Eastern Shore Writers Association for welcoming Poetry X Hunger to their Bay to Ocean Writers Conference. Tina Daub and Larew (pictured at the Poetry X Hunger display table) met lots of fine writers, re-connected with friends ... and raised 200 dollars for Feed the Children. Yes!
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Christina Daub @christinadaub.bsky.social · 27/03/2026
One of Emily Dickinson’s envelope poems #poetry from Christine Burgin/New Directions
Had
we
senses tho'
But
perhaps
well they're at
Home
So
intimate
Madness
He's
liable
Thats'
'Tis
Had within
oUr
'tis not
with
with them
the eyes
our
Head -s -
prudent
How
well
we
are
We 
could
upon
Earth
that
Blind - not the
World
§ So
Utterly
Unmoved
Had
we
senses tho'
But
perhaps
well they're at
Home
So
intimate
Madness
He's
liable
Thats'
'Tis
Had within
oUr
'tis not
with 
with them
the eyes
our
Head -s -
prudent
How
well
we
are
We 
could
upon
Earth
that
Blind - not the
World
§ So
Utterly
Unmoved
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Reposted by Christina Daub
Michael Bazzett @mikhailbazharov.bsky.social · 15/03/2026
Beyond grateful to APR for publishing this poem... Writing poems while your city –– and home ––is being terrorized by thugs with guns might seem odd. Or even absurd. But, as Szymborska famously said, “I prefer the absurdity of writing poems / to the absurdity of not writing poems.”
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Reposted by Christina Daub
Samuel Day Wharton @fakeourway.bsky.social · 15/03/2026
Jane Zwart from Oddest & Oldest & Saddest & Best #smallpoemsunday @tomsnarsky.bsky.social
Waiting Room

It

is possible to pass a whole life
like this, half-harkening.

perusing a backlog of Vanity Fair

It is possible to hang on the turn
of a knob without wanting
the thing on the door's other side.

You could grow old here, your sight
skating the eights that ivy up
the wallpaper while reruns run

It is possible to pass years waiting,
unyearning, and still to start
at a voice announcing your name.
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Reposted by Christina Daub
River River Books @riverriverbooks.bsky.social · 16/03/2026
Happy WOMEN’S HISTORY MONTH from River River Books! 🎉🎉🎉 Check out these beautiful poetry and nonfiction titles today! 📚💙 riverriverbooks.org/store/
Book graphic featuring 12 titles by women-identifying authors at RRB
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Reposted by Christina Daub
Susan L. Leary @susanlleary.bsky.social · 15/03/2026
Stefanie Kirby 💙 in Ocean State Review Happy #smallpoemsunday! @msstefaniekirby.bsky.social @tomsnarsky.bsky.social
Static

The body contains little echo or lightning.
I am not an island, says the woman without a face, but 
probably a clock, or an anvil.
Everything present is struck exactly once.
You keep your hands caged to teach them a lesson.
Everything absent increases our risk.
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Christina Daub @christinadaub.bsky.social · 17/03/2026
everything glowed/ with backstory from the poem Time Travel for Beginners by Ardon Shorr 2023 Rattle Poetry Prize winner #TwoPageTuesday #poetry @rattlepoetry.bsky.social
TIME TRAVEL FOR BEGINNERS
Every crumb of starlight sails
across the universe,

the journey of a million years
to end inside our eyes.

Except I was looking at you, 
canvas coverall cinched at the waist,

as you undressed me with photons, 
wrapped me in stories,

painted with x-rays, 
until everything glowed

with backstory-the names of trees, 
the name of an extinguished star,

still visible, ghost in the sky, 
climbing a staircase of optic nerve

into an afterlife of sight.
Hand on my hand you pointed to the past:

the sun, an 8-minute time machine, 
the moon, one second old,

and the incredible now, 
unfolding like a cone,

megaphone of memory stretched to the sky and balanced on the tip was us,

a luminous shout
of life at the speed of light.In a blink, this moment reaches the moon.
When we pack up the hammock, it floats

in the acid clouds of Venus.
Which means that somewhere, there is a spot,

past the gaps in Saturn's rings, 
beyond the storms of Jupiter,

outside the curved embrace of the Milky Way, 
at least one place in the universe,

where you could turn around and see us, 
back when we were still in love.
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Christina Daub @christinadaub.bsky.social · 09/03/2026
from Remembrance by Lauren Camp #smallpoemsunday @tomsnarsky.bsky.social #poetry
REMEMBRANCE
We must answer each question 
with another question.

We must erase our first sorrow.

How shall we hope?
                We must hope.

Do you remember the prayer we said bent over, the giving of body to ground?

We must shape ourselves
first to shadow and then to infinite, the wait of such hunger in every cell.

No matter the hours.
I'll tell you everything. I'll tell you the silence.


Poem by Lauren Camp from her book, 100 
Hungers, Tupelo press, 2016
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Christina Daub @christinadaub.bsky.social · 08/03/2026
Best AWP ever. Got to spend time with old friends and new. Went to some excellent panels and hiked the book fair trails several times. Read at @tupelopress.bsky.social 30/30 event at @greedyreads.bsky.social
I’m standing in front of the Shō Poetry Journal table holding up issue #4.Reading off site at @greedyreads bookstore in Baltimore.Pizza with poets Kelli Russell Agodon, Susan Rich and Saddiq Dzukogi. Note how we carefully guard the bag of poetry books.
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