Skip to Content
By Lauren Camp
The soup cooks for an hour while vultures and buzzards pluck the market.
My father wipes his forehead with a white cloth.
Once, each day began with khubz and samoon
By Wo Chan
She closed the doors
and then the blinds
and then her face, midday.
By José B. González
my mouth agape for these english words made of stone
their sharpness could split my tongue, but one by one
i’ll use them to build a wall, one by one
By Ellen Kombiyil
We are on the plane now
crossing ocean. The pressurized
air is sweet not stale never
stale, the cabin set for
By Purvi Shah
Under sky massaged by sun, from a comfortable chair, I watch
the rain stroke a myrtle tree. Naked
rain, my father says. Naked,
By Keith Wilson
shall i tell you, then, that we exist?
there came a light, blue and white careening,
the police like wailing angels
to bitter me.
By Julie Enszer
to the place where the idea
of being a pinko commie dyke
first entered her mind,
By Pat Parker (d.)
I wish I could be
the lover you want
By Kaveh Akbar
Some days we can see Venus in mid-afternoon. Then at night, stars
separated by billions of miles, light travelling years
to die in the back of an eye.
By Aracelis Girmay
You, selling roses out of a silver grocery cart
You, in the park, feeding the pigeons
You cheering for the bees
You with cats in your voice in the morning, feeding cats