Spring has come to Columbia, Maryland, and we should all be out enjoying the warmer weather, soaking in the beautiful blossoms that have sprung up around the region, and enjoying the many live events that were scheduled to mark National Poetry Month. Instead, we’re staying inside, maybe going for a safely distant walk every now and again, and looking for ways to connect virtually.

But no matter what fear and uncertainty reign outside, literature is there to provide solace. And luckily, there are many ways to celebrate National Poetry Month — and literary creativity in general — virtually. We’ve compiled just a few below. This is by no means an exhaustive list — let us know if there are any that we should add!

1. Check out 30 ways to celebrate National Poetry Month online, compiled by the Academy of American Poets. To name just a few, you can sign…

It’s been one year since we launched Turnpike Magazine, and we are so happy you’re here to celebrate with us! Since our debut in July 2018, we have grown in team members, submissions, contributors, and supporters. It has been an absolute whirlwind, and we are feeling both empowered and humbled. We are grateful for the opportunity to add some light into the world.

Download your free copy of our 1st Anniversary Issue here:

Thank you for supporting this project, as it wouldn’t be possible without you. It has become something even more beautiful than we could have ever imagined.

Contributor Bios:

• Abby Johnson is a poet and a Hoosier who is proud of the local art scene that fostered her. She is pursuing her MFA in Creative Writing through Butler University. She has been published previously in Turnpike, as well as…

BODY byKevin Gomez

Orlando, Florida

how dangerous it is to be a body, cloaked in dawn
dancing to the beat of one’s own name. the sky combs
the head, a silken tongue—yellow—attempting to comfort.
a silicone of happiness gallops from the lips,
sings itself against the wide night. as it leans back
on its bones, a dance.

and the bullets come like a ghost, quiets the body.
it was too easy a song from the throat called
baggage, unwinding along the pavement. spilled
aside blood. dawn, and all its limbs, made to watch,
cold, becoming the day it was meant to be.

while the body loosens into itself, it asks:
what is to become of us now, a frog in its chest.
and the surrounding flail their voices
into the moon, their shrieks toppling what the body
called safety.

                are we to be angry? are we to…

WILLIAM TELL

I remember playing the william tell
overture and the farmer who forecasted the weather
and elections, and sometimes I think about
it all and my place in it when often
I realize it couldn’t’ve ever happened.
Root beers and bug spray melting into 401k’s
I remember sitting at the stoplight that
was always red and realizing that
everything breaks

TWENTY FIVE OVER FIFTY FIVE

august eleventh
ninety four degrees
small town, big dreams
its dark outside
besides occasional lightning cracks
its only heat lightning darling
turn off the radio
twenty five over fifty five
crickets provide a soundtrack
harmonious rubber to rubble
racing through a small town at eleven twenty six
I glance a second and I know you’re beautiful
but I cry because the only feeling you know
in this god forsaken town is the bruises
that outline your father’s love for you
fags are only cigarettes