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By Bianca Lynne Spriggs
I get it.
We are strangers,
but I know the heart is a hive
and someone has knocked yours
from its high branch in your chest
By Doritt Carroll
the first time it happened
i thought i was being strangled
four fingers compressing each side of my throat
By Rasheed Copeland
It took us this long to slow our dying
down to a languid and sensible pace
wherein the sugar might claim each our limbs
By Karenne Wood
1. A white poet whose work I admire said she feels most inspired on her daily four-mile walk through a forest.
2. I wish I had time to walk four miles daily. I can usually manage one mile with dogs. My dogs are distractible, and they distract me.
By Joseph Green
This poem is in video format.
By Mai Der Vang
Concerning our hollow breasts,
Lice factions multiplying in our hair.
Concerning our unused stomachs,
Molars waiting to chew, taste buds
By Tatiana Figueroa Ramirez
I wake up to the alarm clocks
of cocks & gallinas struggling
for their corner of the callejón.
on the preheated concrete.
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
By Jeanann Verlee
In a humble, godless house
you moved through youth like any girl.
Dolls & other toys, yours,
By John James
In Georgetown, IN, the steel projector reels.
The desert stretches blankly before us, a red
plain constellated with rows of dry mesquite.