Award Winners

Lyric Poetry Award - 2026

A.D. Lauren-Abunassar

Finalists

Nina C. Peláez

Malcolm Tariq


Roadside Anti-Pastoral

1.

Then: driving to California / the sand’s grip /the car’s lilt / the wrong time to fall asleep dreaming / of blue meadows / mud-meadows / heat starching everything / everything a question / of wonder/ what to do with it / what to undo / with it / When just last night: / J. punched through glass / waved one red-hand / Waved two red-hands / Suddenly surprised to see daylight / Like: we lived / through this? / Strange / where miracles express / themselves / Where days continue /

Locking the door / and tossing the knives / setting small fires / in old stoves / Watch the smoke curl sky-ward / daggering the dark / with gray / syllables / Face-first on concrete / and one produces / blood / My knees / a bleak roadmap / my hands / a soft / tribute / to softness / some skin / I left there / & won’t get / back / I have learned / to accept many / strange acceptances /

2.

There were two fake horses / on the road to Indio / A man selling plums / from hole-riddled buckets / sweeping stems to the dirt / He calls out to me still:/ Love’s not supposed to / then the wind gets / the rest / I have, often, / turned / and unturned the lock / am proven dangerous / ly indecisive / Have lived with people who hit / just because /

Sometimes the smoke / is really snow churned / from the bluff / and I am surprised / by the landscape’s revision / but then / the body revises / also /Landmarks confuse me / because what land isn’t / marked / There is hardly a moment / I don’t remember / saying / change demands some sacrifice /

I am shocked by the precision / of starlight / But I am, often, / also lying / about what shocks me /

That I swept up the glass / without question / That I false-start most joys / and jump-start my grief / like a car / Like I’m guilty / to ever / think I was done with it /

3.

E. talks about how / in writing class / all the Americans want to know / what one thinks about / when walking through checkpoints / Really / she says / it’s more tedium of passage / As in: / dream of Jordanian ice cream / sweet cheese stringing out / like a sentence / Allow this boredom / also / as a right / distraction a kind / of kindness / Our fears are both large / and quiet / I have never once checked out / of a hotel on time / and I have never once / not felt deeply / concerned by this / 

Truth can exist / in multiples / As in: / the olive groves smell / like smoke / but also / the olive groves smell / like olives / My father is haunted by ghosts / but also / my father is guarded by angels / The blood of my grandmother / matters / but also / why should I have / to say this? / 

No I do not / count the ways / my lover smiles / as much as I count / the ways my lover weeps / And yes, I consider /this also / a failure / of witness / 

4.

And sometimes / I lose track of the point / where devotion / becomes / an obsession / And sometimes / in cars / I drive with / the ghost of / my grandmother / and ask what / to do / with a land I can / cup at / the knuckle /

And sometimes / the car spins wildly / in dreams / ferrying away / the feeling of puncture / So I fear dreams / but also / I learn them / as wellness / practice /

The ghost of my grandmother toils / with countless rose petals / turns and unturns / the radio dial / the car is filled / with her drugstore novels / Lauren / she screams / who are we to scoff at love / of any kind /

Learning to live / just to be / alive / is a full-time / occupation / Once / I held a handful / of pills / just to see / how far up / to the edge / I could edge /

Teta / I reply / but the wind’s roar / through the window / swallows me / I am always trying / to remember / the last thing / I meant / to tell / her /

5.

Some things that have / shocked me / : an eel washed / up on the beach / spine dull and yellow / The way the sun pauses / on glass / Splitting my nail on / something soft / brief capacity / of everything / to shatter / or be shattered /

When I was / nineteen / I worked for a woman / who asked me / daily / to collect the bodies of / bent-necked birds /who flew blindly / into /the glass wall of the family / pool house / into the dead twisted stem / of their bodies /

My hands did not / shake / with the quiet heft / of them /

So everyone / eventually stumbles / upon the life / they choose to ignore /

So everyone / is guilty / of something /

Who hasn’t / at one point / rationed the love / they can afford / to give / 

6.

There is no such thing / as incidental / death / All death / is full / of incident / When my grandmother was a ghost / she told me that once / she saw a / struck deer dying / 

on the side / of the road / And she knew / she must draw / the knife / Like I knew / I must carry / the birds / those dead birds / those bodied-birds / praying for their passage / like my grandmother prayed / for this passage / the pavement a river / A darklung / full / of blood / the moon / a vigilant student / 

Like we both knew / death is an interruption / of movement / 

Roads / are the things we sometimes / survive / and sometimes / don’t / 

Before my grandmother / was a ghost / she mumbled offhandedly / about the swollen bellies / of the starved / The homesick / witness / of children / The men cleaved in half like glaciers / 

She had seen them / and saw them / often / in dreams / 

7.

And sometimes I make / Plath-approved playlists / but my mother skips all / the songs / And sometimes she asks / me / what do you have / to be so sad about /

Sadness is a right / but we must ask / for it over / and over And often / I find / I am more / tortured by sadness / I don’t have / a right to /

Sometimes / when I can’t afford / therapy / I go to see psychics / and recycle / the same questions over / and over / And once I found one / who had / no answers / only more / questions /

I told her I had / only dreams /What torture / she said / The possibility of possibility /

like an anti-pastoral / pastoral / where the dream / is a right we all / have a right to /

8.

Anti-pastoral pastoral: / roadblood like rosebud / a school bus's / shredded tires / Buildings stubbed / like cigarettes / This dear / and wasted / sky / 

Columns of light / shift through / glass / like dashboard / dancers / 

The skirt of the evening / raises / recedes / Fault lines of flesh / Shoulder of farmland / 
A bone dredged / through gutters / of dirt / Leg of the river / Stomach of sea / 

A soon-enough-wasteland / is a dried flower / rain-soaked shoes / left out by the door / A hand to reach / and keep reaching / in the dark / 

Our cousin sleeps with a bible / beneath her pillow / In case she dies in the bombings / she wants to be close / to her god / She wants to dream / of men swallowed / by whales / and not / the blood tidal / - reach of / a missile 

9.

After my grandmother was / a ghost / she turned in the car / seat next to me / asked me / to dream / about rosebuds / also / Asked me to dream / about sage leaves / Asked me to dream about / my father / screeching / in laughter / the sea a / dazzling possibility / for life / Asked me to dream / about dreaming / for dreaming’s sake /

an exercise / in asking life / to fill you / also /

This / she said / is all we have /

Once she was a woman / also / More than a ghost / more than an angel / Full of more / than possibility / Once she believed / and kept believing / she would / one day / go home / again


José Olivarez on A.D. Lauren-Abunassar

The music in this poem comes down in waves; forward slashes stutter our movement through the poem for just a second before the wave of music builds. Likewise, the images mount piece by piece. I found myself immediately captivated by the poem’s song and dance. “Then: driving to California /” the poem begins, and what follows is a poem that travels across countries, across grief, and across death. Along the way, we are gifted this: “E. talks about how / in writing class / all the Americans want to know / what one thinks about / when walking through checkpoints / Really / she says / it’s more tedium of passage /”—There is nothing tedious about this poem. “Roadside Anti-Pastoral” takes the pastoral and haunts it with all the bloodshed, the people evicted, the animals discarded—everything that turns land into a landscape. It is unwieldy and rollicking and always enthralling.

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A.D. Lauren-Abunassar is a Palestinian-American writer, poet, and journalist. Her work has appeared in Poetry, Narrative, Rattle, Prairie Schooner, Boulevard, and elsewhere. Her first book, Coriolis, was the winner of the 2023 Etel Adnan Poetry Prize. She is a 2025 NEA fellow in poetry. 

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Finalists

Nina C. Peláez is a writer, artist, educator & cultural producer based in Maui, HI. A Best New Poets and Best of the Net nominee, recent work appears or is forthcoming in publications including The Atlantic, The Poetry Foundation, Iowa Review, Prairie Schooner, Pleiades, Poetry Northwest, Narrative, The Adroit Journal, Waxwing, and The Offing. She is the Associate Director of The Merwin Conservancy.

Malcolm Tariq is a poet, playwright, and social impact strategist from Savannah, Georgia. He is the author of Heed the Hollow (Graywolf, 2019), winner of the Cave Canem Poetry Prize and the Georgia Author of the Year Award in Poetry. He lives in Brooklyn, New York, and serves as director of PEN America's Prison and Justice Writing Program.