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By Chrysanthemum
Scheduling a follow-up with my PCP, I prepare
for disaster. Inevitable as flood, I hush a moniker
kept in confidence, wager my informed consent
for a Hancock granting passage. Gates are flimsy
metaphors. It’s more of a worn-down levee, dike
ready to burst without notice.
By jason b. crawford
and because this is a poem about joy, it too must have a river flowing
from its greedy jaws. i have only learned how to speak about joy
as an offering to a god i will never understand.
By Ariana Benson
a week before I left the sinking city, I read
about a fruit fly with decoy ants on its wings—
an evolutionary adaptation, bred
evidence of what happens when a species clings
so desperately to life that it makes for itself
By Maya Marshall
Today’s nothing fancy: my mother lives,
a simple pleasure. My cat made biscuits
on my knee. A woman I desire,
giggled with me, invited me to touch
a whale. I fell for a man I barely know,
his delicious disdain, his persistent smile,
flaking skin and mane.
By Aurielle Marie
I always feel Black, y’ know? | I close my eyes at night & the tar behind them lids | ain’t nearly as dark as me | I wake to a thousand white daggers
By Sumita Chakraborty
We may try to change the shape of your body, or the color of your skin,
or the kinds of sounds that your mouths make, to match how we think you should.
By Siaara Freeman
When I say ancestors, let’s be clear:
I mean slaves. I’m talkin’ Tennessee
cotton & Louisiana suga. I mean grave dirt.
By Liv Mammone
The train is a creature that moves like water.
It has no eyes, only a sharp
mouth that closes on those too slow.
By Zefyr Lisowski
Was not a monster— (His hands were soft)
Was not an abnormality— Was not just
“being a boy”— Had no reputation—
By George Abraham
maybe if , ash & smolder way the – tongue own my in never but song this heard i've
– it birthed who fire the not & gospel become can , mouth right the in seen