Skip to Content
Search Results
Purvi Shah

Loss is an art, traversing one world to the next

By Purvi Shah The mehndi is leaving my hands,
brown swirls dissolving into brown skin.
Somewhere you are traveling
Daniel Nathan Terry

The Execution of Henry Wirz - November 10, 1865

By Daniel Nathan Terry That Andersonville was a camp of nightmares,
a dark machine that brought slow death
to nearly 13,000 men, is not in dispute.
Nancy C. Otter

Rios Montt

By Nancy C. Otter The soldier who stopped my father's truck
at the Chiapas border crossing in 1983
might have worked for that man
Joseph Ross

In a Summer of Snipers

By Joseph Ross In a summer of snipers
some men raised their hands
with fingers pressed
Camille T. Dungy

Arthritis is one thing, the hurting another

By Camille T. Dungy The poet's hands degenerate until her cup is too heavy.
You are not required to understand.
This is not the year for understanding.
Sonia Sanchez

14 haiku

By Sonia Sanchez Your limbs buried
in northern muscle carry
their own heartbeat
Marilyn Nelson

Making History

By Marilyn Nelson Somebody took a picture of a class
standing in line to get polio shots,
and published it in the Weekly Reader.
Venus Thrash

Uncivil

By Venus Thrash I am wearing a white tux with tails,
or a baby blue one with a ruffly shirt,
or decked out in classic black, or coolly
Carlos Andrés Gómez

Never Again (Rwanda Poem)

By Carlos Andrés Gómez
Kim Roberts

Portrait of Hippocrates, or Buqrat

By Kim Roberts O augury seeker,
know and be aware...
In the book of divination,
Page 13 of 15 pages