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Patrick Rosal The teacher can’t hear the children
over all this monsoon racket,
all the zillion spoons whacking
the rusty roofs, all the wicked tin streams
flipping full-grown bucks off their hooves.
Gwen Nell Westerman Our elders say
the universe is a
Sandra Beasley We take pride in serving the
We’re accustomed to servicing the
Please take the attached
Please answer these six
M. Soledad Caballero He says, they will not take us.
They want the ones who love
another god, the ones whose
joy comes with five prayers and
Javier Zamora His grandma made the best pupusas, the counselor wrote next to Stick-Figure Abuelita
(I’d colored her puffy hair black with a pen).
Earlier, Dad in his truck: “always look gringos in the eyes.”
Mom: “never tell them everything, but smile, always smile.”
Amanda Gorman There’s a poem in this place—
in the footfalls in the halls
in the quiet beat of the seats.
It is here, at the curtain of day,
Aricka Foreman When the hollow grows thick, she prescribes
20 mg to take every morning for four to five days,
then increase as tolerated. Take it with fish oil and
a book of artificial light, try not to repeat the question.
Imani Davis a political statement walks into an art classroom. it could be the walls, or her bones, either way
some white structure will soon betray her with its crumbling.
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
Julie Enszer to the place where the idea
of being a pinko commie dyke
first entered her mind,