• Address 720 East Locust Street | Milwaukee, WI 53212
  • Phone 414.263.5001
  • Hours Tue-Fri 11-8pm | Sat-Sun 12-5pm | Closed Mon
  • Hours Tue-Fri 11-8pm, Sat-Sun 12-5pm, Closed Mon
Event Calendar
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performances
April 19

Alash Ensemble

special events
April 21

Join us for the 13th annual RIVERWEST FOLLIES variety show

performances
April 22

ACL presents Renee Baker Quartet, Visual Dark Scratch Suite

exhibitions
April 22

Woman: Frailty Thy Name, works by Renee Baker

readings & workshops
April 25

Reading: Toni Jensen

readings & workshops
April 26

Four Milwaukee Poets: Alix Anne Shaw with Annie Grizzle, Sam Pekarske & Bethany Price

readings & workshops
April 28

Wisconsin Reads: Reading with Louise Erdrich (video streamed to Woodland Pattern)

readings & workshops
May 2

Poetry Reading: Rena Priest and Denise Low

readings & workshops
May 2

Craft Talk with Denise Low at UWM

readings & workshops
May 10

Birds in Poetry at Urban Ecology Center

performances
May 13

Alternating Currents Live presents: The Transatlantic Bridge #11

readings & workshops
May 16

Kundiman Midwest Chapbook Series Noel Pabillo Mariano

performances
May 17

Formations Series for New & Improvised Music

readings & workshops
May 24

Poetry Reading: Urban Echo Poets

performances
June 3

ACL presents: Tom Hamilton & City of Vorticity

Daniel Khalastchi

Born and raised in Iowa, Daniel Khalastchi is a first-generation Iraqi Jewish American. A graduate of the Iowa Writers' Workshop and a recent fellow at the Fine Arts Work Center in Provincetown, he is currently a Visiting Assistant Professor of English at Marquette University. His first collection of poetry, Manoleria (2011), was awarded the Tupelo Press/Crazyhorse First Book Prize, and his poems have appeared in numerous journals, including Kenyon Review, jubilat, and Denver Quarterly. He lives in Milwaukee where he is also the co-editor of Rescue Press.

Selected Poems

Like Bricks, 
Like Bricks:



Daniel Khalastchi

 

On  a  lighthouse ledge I stand
holding    a   boulder.   Hugged
by a fishing net,  the drag end
of the line is threaded through
a  hole   pricked  wide   in  my
tongue.    Last   week,    they
planted  a  cherry  tree  in my
abdomen.  It's  watered when
I   sleep,   and   opening   my
mouth I feel its dry  branches
stretch  the   length   of   my
larynx.  A  pile  of  woodchips
helps  to   cover   the   roots
growing  down   through   my
arches.  From  the  tower,  a
lamp  and   mirror  spit-bright
the water  every  full  eleven
seconds.    I fear if I breathe
the          stitching         will
loosen.     When   I   let   go
the   rock   I   move  nothing
my  body.