Skip to Content
Search Results
Terisa Siagatonu

The Day After American Samoa Is Under Water

By Terisa Siagatonu The evening news helicopters compete for the best camera angle
above the water, fighting to find anything worthy of coverage.

A floating high chief. A baby’s arm flattened by a coconut tree. Anything.
Even the Titanic was enormous enough to leave remnants of itself
Katherine E. Young

Mo(u)rning Poem

By Katherine E. Young This is the poem meant for this mo(u)rning,
now the winds have died down,
the dogwood’s unclenched its frightened fists,
and the morning’s calling
Seema Reza

Quartering

By Seema Reza When the soldier knocks on your door, billet book in hand, move aside
to let him enter. He will wipe his feet, remove his hat
(you’ll learn to call it a cover)
he will be polite, place his rifle by the door
Sherwin Bitsui

from Dissolve

By Sherwin Bitsui Father's dying ceased
when he refunded this ours
for fused hands plaster-coated
Ella Jaya Sran

to my shaking hands

By Ella Jaya Sran to the screams.
to the glass-shattering pleas for life
that no one but they can hear.
to the wooden desks that were my sanctuary
Lauren (Lo) May

Faux Feminism

By Lauren (Lo) May twitter feminists will scream
my brown eyes be beautiful
while labeling the grey and green “exotic”
love my “black girl afro” when it's plucked and fluffy
Jeanann Verlee

Commodity

By Jeanann Verlee In a humble, godless house
you moved through youth like any girl.
Dolls & other toys, yours,
in parts.
Paul Tran

The Santa Ana

By Paul Tran Desert born. Wild
As corn. Dry
Bitch. Itchy clit.
Meteorologists
Danielle Badra

We are not reconciled to the oppressors who whet their howl on our grief.

By Danielle Badra We are not born to be barons of wealth. We
are soft spoken wordsmiths, not soldiers. We are
not broken by hardship or hate. We are not
Elizabeth Acevedo

In Translation

By Elizabeth Acevedo My mouth cannot write you a white flag.
It will never be a Bible verse.
My mouth cannot be shaped into the apology
Page 2 of 32 pages