A born and raised Washingtonian, Tristan Beach has spent the last three years of his life teaching college English across China. Before that, he was an editor for The Conium Review for several years. He has been involved with various journals and literary presses since 2010, including Copper Canyon Press, Coffee House Press, Pitkin Review, and Clockhouse. His poems and prose appear or are forthcoming in Shantih, rawboned, and Pitkin Review. He has an MFA in Creative Writing from Goddard College and received his BA from Saint Martin’s University. He currently teaches English at Saint Martin’s and manages the religious education program for Holy Cross Catholic Church, in Tacoma.
He enjoys enormous blankets, espresso with a spot of milk, miniature dachshunds, yoga, and pretending to be a foreigner in his hometown. Large pillows are a gateway to his heart. And rum.
Examples of his kind of poetry:
This is a body. With its hands, a pair of stuffed bird wings, worrying the air around them. Then the tail, a splayed line. A cord plugged into the world below–balloon ribbon. The hips jangle, the lips curse. The eyes travel the distance interceding stars. Celestial longing so much the body loosens its grip on the Real.
Through that window
sallow leaves shimmer like sequins
on cottonwood boughs
glittering the ground in tatters
of eventual rot…