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Darrel Alejandro Holnes

Angelitos Negros

By Darrel Alejandro Holnes In the film, both parents are Mexicans as white as
a Gitano’s bolero sung by an indigena accompanied by the Moor’s guitar
bleached by this American continent’s celluloid in 1948
when in America the world’s colors were polarized into black & blanco.
Caits Meissner

13 Hours in the Future

By Caits Meissner I am 13 hours in the future & it is night / the rain is holding her breath
my friend, isn’t Penang opening to us! / a lotus unveiling a carnival
the paper lanterns are skirts / or balls pushed along by tiger’s nose
our smoke is a canon / dare devil on its way to an unnamed star
Regie Cabico

Teaching Gender Segregated Sex Writing Class

By Regie Cabico I get to edit penis poems and feel like Michelangelo
Making masterpieces of what is private and unsculpted
Beneath the writing table
All I have to say is My penis is…
Aracelis Girmay

from THE BLACK MARIA

By Aracelis Girmay Beloved, to
day you eat,
today you bathe, today
you laugh
Mahogany L. Browne

Ego-Tripp(ed)

By Mahogany L. Browne & then the poet became G_D/like
just’a rolling his tongue everywhere
like G O D must’ve
when the earth got birth(ed) & even
Aracelis Girmay

Break

By Aracelis Girmay When the boys are carnivals
we gather round them in the dark room
& they make their noise while drums
ricochet against their bodies & thin air
Jamila Woods

Blk Girl Art

By Jamila Woods Poems are bullshit unless they are eyeglasses, honey
tea with lemon, hot water bottles on tummies. I want
poems my grandma wants to tell the ladies at church
about. I want orange potato words soaking in the pot
Pages d. Matam

register now for freedom

By Pages d. Matam ever seen the smile of a brown child
so loud it leaves Jericho shakin' in its overpriced boots

ever seen the smile of a brown child
so late the rest of the world still wanna catch up to its wind
Ross Gay

A Small Needful Fact

By Ross Gay Is that Eric Garner worked
for some time for the Parks and Rec.
Horticultural Department, which means,
perhaps, that with his very large hands,
Peter J. Harris

Don’t Even Pretend (The Saturn Poem)

By Peter J. Harris Saturn's rings was all nappy
spread out from her head
like she just woke up
took a shower & aint dried them yet
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