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JoAnn Balingit

Water Birth

By JoAnn Balingit There’s no usurping her pain
now the baby’s head is crowning
mom mom mom mom mom

no panting I say
take deep breaths through your nose
Jalynn Harris

Druid Hill Park, Baltimore MD

By Jalynn Harris At the entrance, six copper pillars stand tall as a wave
as once did six-fingered Lucille. She lived here, too–

The light alone enough to fill the lake. I walk the park
because I’m weak. All flesh and fur needing

to get out my bark. My rough squeeze of please please
A red bird. Another mile. My feet eat the concrete.
Samia Saliba

historicity

By Samia Saliba golden shovel after karl marx, walter benjamin, richard siken, & zaina alsous

“the tradition of all dead generations weighs like a nightmare on the brains of the living”
- karl marx

in american cemeteries the dead overlap, the
hillside ostentatious in the catholic tradition.
Ana Portnoy Brimmer

Sargassum / Sargazo

By Ana Portnoy Brimmer There’s so much to be learned from that which floats A patience
from the Gulf of Mexico to a sea of its name sargassum
drifts hand in hand with itself
Jaz Sufi

ETYMOLOGY OF BORDERS

By Jaz Sufi BORDER, from the Middle English bordure, meaning “the decorative band
surrounding a shield,” a heraldic device intended to identify
possession — this flag flies over that land, & so this land belongs
to…
Tanaya Winder

when we banish tongues

By Tanaya Winder i.
we've entered a New World
Order on words, days
of economic deprivation
where only one percent thrives.
time is dictated by greediness
and fear, days when books
are banned by the belief
consumed.
Raye Hendrix

What Good Is Heaven

By Raye Hendrix when my mother dreamed of children she pictured
things in bowls beautiful fish gracing over

brightly colored stones clear water a bowl of her favorite
fruits ceramic overflowing pears and tangerines

blueberries fat with sweet
Jasmine Reid

Princess Powerpuff / Chemical X

By Jasmine Reid i spread at my touch & clit
contemplating my beauty this Monday i live

the pleasure of my fingers
how i am in-the-making by hand

by pill by needle i am the perfect girl
professor, in fact, Chemical X is my love

in gradients of acidity i am
milkless except by oats, by meal made of itself
Farrah Fang

Washateria Blues

By Farrah Fang In Houston they don’t really call it a laundromat
It’s a washateria or la lavandería
Today you go to the one on Airline and Tidwell

The chronic pain and weakness in your body
Makes it difficult to relocate canastos of clothes
From home to your car, to the washateria, to inside the machine
Ladan Osman

Silhouette

By Ladan Osman I enter: carpet, curtains,
large, framed pictures of robed white men,
a glassy glare over a forehead, below the voice box,
students in bland shades.
I don’t belong, the luxury of thinking,
the wealth of talking about thought,
privilege of ease among important people.
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