We are thrilled to announce that this year’s winning manuscript of the Richard Mathews Prize for Poetry is The Resurrection of the Body by Kirk Schlueter. Schlueter is a writer and teacher based out of St. Louis, where he lives with his wife and son. His poetry has been awarded the Frontier Prize for New Poets judged by Victoria Chang, as well as an Illinois Arts Council Award, and has appeared in journals such as Bat City Review, RHINO, Diode, Third Coast, Nimrod, River Styx, Passages North, Ninth Letter, Natural Bridge, The Pinch, Grist, Radar Poetry, and Tinderbox Poetry Journal among others. Fellowships include the New York State Summer Writers Institute at Skidmore College, Kenyon College Writers Workshop for Teachers, and University Fellowship at Southern Illinois University-Carbondale. He received his MFA from Southern Illinois University-Carbondale, and can be found on his website.

Of Schlueter’s manuscript, one of our judges and poetry editor, Paul Corrigan, says:

In The Resurrection of the Body, through poems both narrative and lyrical, Kirk Schlueter tells necessary stories of male anorexia. These are stories that have largely been erased from broader social narratives by patriarchal assumptions about eating disorders. In an early poem in the book, titled “Ten Million American Men Will Suffer from an Eating Disorder During Their Lives,” the poet underscores anorexia’s gendered inflection by recalling a health teacher in school talking about body image and saying, “Girls, this is important, pay attention.” He also recalls some of the very boys mocking female classmates for disordered eating only to eventually find themselves suffering from the same disorder and uttering the same lie: “I’m fine.” Later in “The Anorexic’s Aubade,” Schlueter dramatizes the difficulties that loathing oneself can create for loving and being loved by another. A couple wakes and eats breakfast together—barely. The beloved eats just a “knuckle of food,” while the speaker “shoved my own eggs around // so it seemed I’d eaten more.” Later, the two are “rent apart / like meat cleaving off a bone.” The juxtaposition of food and body imagery (knuckle and bone, eggs and meat) links the breakfast and the breakup in a shared illness. But Schlueter’s stories are not only about illness. The final poem in the book, “The Body as Metaphor,” brings us to a place that is “healthy?” That question mark refuses any simplistic notion that all is well. But by now, the poet can declare: “I wanted to die, / & now I don’t.” That’s no small progress for any man or anyone.

Please join us in congratulating Kirk!

The Richard Mathews Prize for Poetry (formerly the Tampa Review Prize for Poetry) is given annually for a previously unpublished booklength manuscript. Judging is by the editors of Tampa Review. Submissions are now being accepted for 2026.

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This year’s winning story is “Milk Bottle Churches” by Jay McKenzie. McKenzie’s work appears in adda, Maudlin House, The Hooghly Review, Fahmidan Journal, Fictive Dream, and others. She recently won the Fish Short Story Prize, was runner up in the Tom Grass Literary Award, and has won, placed, or shortlisted in competitions including the Commonwealth Short Story Prize. Her novel How to Lose the Lottery will be published by Harper Fiction in March 2026.

Of the winning story, Ayana Mathis says:

Heartbreaking. Lyrically and beautifully written. This writer shows a deep facility with storytelling and knows when to reveal and when to withhold. The characters were well-rendered. The story’s use of figurative language was gorgeous, and more importantly, this writer understands that such language can be used to evoke the mood of the story as a whole, not merely the sentence or clause in which it appears: “On the sepia-tinted west bank of the Ex . . .” or  “. . . a dress that looks like a week-old bruise . . .” Time is also handled incredibly well; though the story’s current action takes place years after that fateful summer, those events haunt this story. The writer cleverly shows us how much the present is beholden to the past. I can’t think of a better macro-metaphor than the titular milk bottles thrown into the sea so long ago: one still carrying its message, the other smashed on a shore thousands of miles away.

Please join us in congratulating Jay, and we hope you’ll keep us in mind when submissions open once again in the fall!

Thank you all for sending us your work.

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Flower Conroy has won the 2024 Richard Mathews Prize for Poetry for the collection, Zoodikers: A Bestiary. In addition to a $2,000 check, the award includes hardback and paperback book publication in 2025 by the University of Tampa Press. 

LGBTQIA+ artist, former Key West Poet Laureate, and NEA and MacDowell Fellow, Flower Conroy is the author of “Snake Breaking Medusa Disorder” (NFSPS’s Barbara Stevens’ contest winner), “A Sentimental Hairpin,” “Greenest Grass” (Lynx’s House Press’ Blue Lynx Prize winner), and the forthcoming “And Scuttle My Balloon,” co-authored with Donna Spruijt-Metz.

Conroy has led workshops at/for The Studios of Key West, La Romita School of Art, Write Here, Write Now, and others. In addition to care-giving and free-lancing editing, Conroy is working on a series of Ephemeral Altars—impermanent assemblage art pieces that visually evoke and celebrate poetry collections (which can be found on social media).

Conroy describes the collection:

To understand anything—or to attempt to—is to discover distinctions and similarities conflux, flip, muddle, resist, meld, blur, reflect; boundaries are plastic if not arbitrary, the world and its inhabitants are fragile, everything is interconnected—“Zoodikers: A Bestiary” is my attempt to write through and towards this. Part personal inventory, part existential dread mediation, part hope anthem, I wanted this collection of prose-poems to more wildly explore the abstractions and examine the realities bedeviling me. Midlife. The body. Sickness. Extinction. Sex. Sexuality. Age difference in a relationship. In a queer relationship. Juxtaposition and contradiction. Confession and confrontation. Life, birth and childlessness. Death, the future, the past, AI. What is human and what is animal. How do we account for that which we don’t account for, what do we compromise when we compromise? How we hurt one another. How we heal.

Tampa Review judges praise Conroy’s collection, stating:

Zoodikers, its title from an obsolete 18th-Century interjection of surprise, makes Flower Conroy’s case for revival not just of the word itself, but for the art of the bestiary, the book here in a dazzling revisionist form of a bestiary itself, being of animal, cryptid, and spirits good, evil, indifferent and sometimes other.  In “Echidna”, the speaker, in describing the pins of acupuncture, imagines themselves as the echidna, the spiked anteater, “filiform splinter embedded in the meridian of my soft spot, crown of the governing vessel”, that space between the “mind’s long lists of past due & to do & will it so” and the bestiary induction of the creature behind poetry, that sublime “axis of a planet yet discovered, blood temples”.  

Elsewhere, Zoodikers makes a Moore-esque case for the extinct dodo and the quagga, their histories, and, via the true resurrectionist possibilities of our shared art, makes another case for all the same potentialities of our nature and the “lavender & melody” we still have, this acknowledged by Conroy as being continuously undercut by the same-such us.  Our meadows and habitats, and the creatures within them, even exist electric in cyberspace, and are shown to us in Conroy’s “Ibex”, where Conroy says “it was written: When Thriving Ibex enters the battlefield you get   (two energy counters) but I misread it as encounters”, Conroy’s bestiary existing in time, place, and no-place, wanting a communion across them all.

Answers are sought for the pursuit of that: from Ouija boards and James Merrill, from the horseshoe crab, from the “real biological weirdo” the tardigrade, while, all throughout, unsolicited answers come from the Bigfoot threat of the patriarchy, interpellations of the Virgin Mary, and the zoodiker itself of the night-time incubus.  Long-gone animals obscure themselves, and fossil records take their circuits in the dark in “Lazarus Taxa”, while their fossil collectors like Mary Anning dip in and out of the account, all while lovers name animals after other lovers at zoos, and the speaker reinvents the ars poetica in “Parroting”, the life, which is poetic for us all, interjecting likewise as the much-beloved elephant gets traced from Dali to the riding of one singular elephant at a small-town carnival.      

Zoodikers is a major book, in the middle of itself and our world. The empathy, the humanity, and the inventiveness find their spaces in Conroy’s remarkable compendium of life, their bestiary as equally comfortable in being grimoire, taxonomy, and encyclopaedia.  It’s a startling achievement, bringing us to our own interjection of surprise, and up there with the best books I’ve read in years.

The Richard Mathews Prize for Poetry (formerly the Tampa Review Prize for Poetry) is given annually for a previously unpublished booklength manuscript. Judging is by the editors of Tampa Review. Submissions are now being accepted for 2025.

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Cover art: Cara Erskine, Venez ici (Pines), oil on canvas, 16×20 in, 2024

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This year’s winning story is “Memory Unit” by Louise Marburg. Marburg is the author of three collections of stories, The Truth About Me, No Diving Allowed, and You Have Reached Your Destination. She lives in New York City with her husband, the artist Charles Marburg.

Of the winning story, Kirstin Valdez Quade says, “‘Memory Unit’ is witty and surefooted and beautifully attentive to character. The incisive observations, prickly humor, and tenderness make this large-hearted wedding romp a delight.”

Valdez Quade also selected the following finalists:

“Chiaroscuro” by J. Pinaire

“The Scale of Things” by Allison Grace Myers

Please join us in congratulating Louise, and we hope you’ll keep us in mind when submissions open once again in the fall.

Thank you all for sending us your work.

Best wishes,

Tampa Review Editors

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