Skip to Content
By celeste doaks
Tell them it's always under attack. Tell them there's no cure
for the disease, or answer to the riddle. Tell them you asked many
before you, some who won, some who lost.
By Stephen Zerance
My father hands me gifts he bought Christmas Eve:
an extra-large broadcloth and thirty-four waist khakis.
I dress different from the boys at school. My shirts fall
By María Luisa Arroyo
Mami called us away from the roach trap line
where novice factory workers, fresh from the island,
and I, fresh from Germany, poked
By Zein El-Amine
Sit in their circle.
Don't let your eyes linger
on any object in the room.
By DaMaris B. Hill
I dream of hounds. Their teeth loose in my veins.
Their howls consume me. They growl and feast.
She whispers not to run. I can't refrain.
By Arhm Choi
If I fail my mouth this story plays again.
Back home he yanks mama's mouth
round into screams, burns
By Purvi Shah
The mehndi is leaving my hands,
brown swirls dissolving into brown skin.
Somewhere you are traveling
By Rachel McKibbens
The Mad Girls climb the wet hill,
breathe the sharp air through sick-green lungs.
The Wildest One wanders off like an old cow
By Kathleen Hellen
I sit in the front row of
bleachers -- cheap seats for greater grief.