Skip to Content
By Sheila Black
The brace was metal, and it fastened around the ankles.
Outside in the street there was the beggar with elephantiasis; there was
the leper, the neighbor with eyes milky blind,
By Minnie Bruce Pratt
The dog lunged at me and choked on its chain
guarding a house on the street of broken dreams.
What does it take to be safe? A sun-porch window
By Kathy Engel
write about the killing of Troy Davis or
the years he claimed innocence so many times
the words fell from his mouth like drops of honey.
By Antoinette Brim
Let the moon untangle itself
from the clothesline, as coming daylight
diminishes its lamp to memory.
By Jose Padua
All the out of business auto body shops
on this slow highway, all the abandoned
buildings with peeling paint, the vacant
By Rich Villar
lacking a proper entrance
into a poem
about Arizona Senate Bill 1070
By Sami Miranda
we is not the singular
dotted i, black figure against
a white background.
By Joseph O. Legaspi
slides down into my body, soft
lambs wool, what everybody
in school is wearing, and for me
By Judith Roche
They are only boys, though murderers and rapists.
Bad skin is an issue. Candy bars a treat.
Some are fathers. Few have fathers.
By Patricia Spears Jones
And I am full of worry I wrote to a friend
Worry, she replied about what—love, money, health?
All of them, I wrote back. It’s autumn, the air is clear