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By T. J. Jarrett
its ruthless syntax, and the ease with which it interjects
itself into our days. I thought how best to explain this—
this dark winter, but that wasn’t it, or beds unshared
but that isn’t exactly it either, until I remembered
By Hermine Pinson
Mother
Slipper
July
“ I will ask you to recall these words
at the end of our session”
By Danez Smith
I am sick of writing this poem
but bring the boy. his new name
his same old body. ordinary, black
dead thing. bring him & we will mourn
By Ruth Irupé Sanabria
I am the daughter of doves
That disappeared into dust
Hear my pulse whisper:
By Christi Kramer
Knowing the tribal leader loved people who fear God and received
priests graciously
whatever time they called,
the president had bombs sewn into the clothes of two priests.
By Sue D. Burton
Today it’s Hopkins and his obscure spiritual contraptions –
everything I read is heart-corseted, like a concealable vest,
police surplus good as new. Some fanatic is packing a gun.
By Genie Abrams
C’mon c’mon c’mon. Let’s do this thing! “Two or three minutes,” my ass. It’s been five minutes already! Where are they? How long
are you supposed to hang out in this frickin’ waiting room?
By Bridget Kriner
This is what I know about being a woman:
My body is coursing with estrogen,
I have a uterus, my breasts fit into bras
that are fashionable, men look at them.
By Maya Pindyck
My friend tells me she just saw October Baby,
a movie about a woman who finds out she was
almost aborted—“abortion survivor,” she calls herself.
I ask my friend if she’s seen the newest flick,
By Lindsay Vaughn
Women who are not ready we have our own ways
we take pills lie in our lovers’ beds
curled like blades of grass we wait for the writhing wind
that aches and rocks our slender bodies they whisper